Child of the White Tree
by the8horcrux
Summary: Arawin, a seventeen year old girl living in the Westfold, had heard rumors about the darkness rising in the East, but never expected how quickly it would spread. The last survivors of their razed town, she and her sister deliver a message to the King about its fate. NOT a Mary Sue, self-insert, Tenth walker, or LegolasxOC. Reviews are appreciated.
1. The Sun's Awake

_Summary_: Arawin, a seventeen year old girl living in a small village in Rohan, never suspected that the rumored darkness would reach her, but the orcs from the Black Tower near them came, and now her town is all but destroyed. Now she with her eight year old sister behind her must warn the King of the Mark of the impending threat in hopes that he will fight back. The journey is shown to be only the beginning of a much larger world, and the mystery of her heritage is suddenly more complicated than she ever could have guessed.

* * *

_Flames._

_Ashes and smoke drift up from the many houses in the small village of Westfold. Seventeen year old Arawin runs, runs as fast her legs can carry her, because she knows that any slip, any stumble, could lead to her death. But nothing can save her already doomed town. _

_She hears the screams of the villagers and the abruptly cut off sobs and blinks away tears as she thinks of how things used to be, before the dark times, before the orcs starting testing her villages' already weak defenses._

_Isengard, the black tower whose shadow sometimes touches Arawin's house, has never paid them any trouble before. But things have changed._

_Everything has changed._

_Her breathing now comes through in weak gasps, and she doesn't know if she can run any longer. She trips and tries to struggle to her feet, but orcs surround her. The nearest one grins hideously and lifts a sword over her chest._

_Arawin screams._

* * *

Arawin's eyes flew open.

She took deep breaths to try and calm herself down. It was only a dream. A dream based in truth, yes, but just a dream. She reached down and clutched her dagger hanging at her side. Somehow it comforted her, even though she knew that if a real enemy came upon them, it wouldn't be much help.

Arawin doubted she could go back to sleep. It wasn't as if she was rested (she doubted that she'd be rested for a very long time) but somehow she knew that if she fell back asleep, the nightmares would return.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the sky. It was black, yet almost grey, signaling that the sun was rising. Tips of sunlight made their way over the mountains behind them. Stars slowly winked out of existence, and sun kissed her face.

Arawin would have been quite happy to just lay there peacefully in the forest. But she couldn't. She had a duty do her family, her village, and most especially her mother.

_'Go,' _she'd said. _'And don't look back. I could not save the village, but you can save the country.' _But then she had been dragged away by the orcs. She'd met Arawin's eyes one last time. _'Go!'_

Arawin wrenched herself out of the recollection. There was no point to dwelling on memories.

She turned to look at her sister, Mildred, sleeping peacefully under hers and Arawin's blanket. Her face was smooth, untroubled by nightmares and traumatic experiences. _That will soon change, _Arawin thought sadly. Even if they both made it out of there alive, neither of them would ever be the same.

It broke Arawin's heart that this had to come to sweet, innocent Mildred. She wasn't meant for fighting, and if Arawin could take the burden by herself, she would.

Determination replaced all other feelings. She _would _make it to the palace. She would tell the king what had happened and he would finally stop hiding, as her mother had told her. _'Maybe it will goad him into action.'_, she had said. That is, unless he was as old and feeble as the stories made him sound…

But perhaps if they got there (_when_ they got there, Arawin told herself stubbornly) she would be able to see her brother Edward.

The day he had turned eighteen, which was one year ago, he had told Mother that he was riding to Edoras to try to get work there. Their family was even poorer than most of the families in the village, especially ever since Father had died. Their mother had protested fiercely, but once Edward set his mind to something, he would do it, one of the few traits he had inherited from their mother.

They had gotten only two letters over the past year from him. They said that he was fine, but that the King was deteriorating faster than his doctors had thought possible, and that he was practically doing whatever his adviser told him to do.

Would a king like that listen to two girls? Maybe not, but all Arawin could do was hope.

She rubbed her eyes as the tips of the sun peaked over the mountains. Mildred stirred and yawned. Arawin shook her gently to finish the waking up process.

"Go 'way." She murmured. "Not morning yet."

"The sun's up, Millie!" Arawin did her best to sound cheerful. "Time to get moving! The sun's awake, so I'm awake, so-"

Millie groaned and sat up, silencing her older sister. She rubbed her eyes, but Arawin knew it was mostly to hide the tears glittering in her eyes, rather than fatigue.

"Do we have to go?" She cocked her head at Arawin and Arawin could see the broken look in her sister's eyes.

It took everything Arawin had to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow. She had to be strong. She wanted more than anything in the world to erase the fear in Mildred's gaze, to hug her and say everything was fine, that they could stay here in the woods with no cares.

But she couldn't. Illusions did more harm than good, she knew that firsthand. The journey was long, and the job that was postponed was the one that took the longest to finish. "I'm sorry, Mildred. But we do."

Arawin pulled her sister to her feet and boosted her on to the horse. Arawin mounted it as well with a grace that befitted one raised in the land of the horse lords.

Keeping her gaze firmly away from the smoke behind them, she kicked the horse and didn't look back.

She never did.

* * *

_A/N Please tell me what you think, I'm really excited to continue with this story. Sorry it's so short, this is mainly an prologue. Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated. _


	2. Captured

"_Mummy?" Five year old Arawin asks her mother tentatively. "Why do I look different from Edward?"_

_She has been noticing it lately. Edward's hair is white blond and his eyes light brown, the same as their father. Her mother has reddish-gold hair and green eyes. Arawin looks absolutely nothing like either of her parents._

_She has thick, wavy dark hair flowing down her back, and her eyes are a sharp grey. It was almost as if she wasn't her parent's child, and that is what she intends to find out._

_Morwen sighs and shifts uncomfortably. She had known that this day would come, but she isn't quite sure how she is going to explain. "Arawin," she says slowly. "I was not the one who birthed you."_

_Arawin blinks slowly. She has always been mature for her age, a fact that Morwen is extremely grateful for—especially now. Arawin tries her best to understand, but all of the evidence points to a solution that she isn't sure she likes._

"_You mean… you're not my mummy?" Arawin tilts her head in confusion. Morwen rushes to reassure her._

"_Honey, of course I'm your mother. Abelard is your father, Edward is your brother. Just because the blood flowing through your veins isn't ours doesn't mean we aren't family. Family isn't made by blood."_

"_Then, who _is _my mother?"_

"_I don't know, Arawin. No one does. But just because I'm not your mother by blood doesn't mean that you're not my daughter."_

"_I'm confused, Mummy." Arawin says. Morwen laughs. "I'm not surprised. Run along and tell your brother that dinner is ready."_

* * *

"_Mother?" Arawin is older now, and her father has just been killed while off hunting. Her mother laughs less often and her color seems to have diminished, somehow. But there is still a spring in her step and fierceness in her gaze. __A former handmaiden to the King wasn't to be defeated so easily._

"_Yes?" Morwen turns from her fire-stoking._

"_How did you find me?" Arawin has been longing to ask this question for months, but then father died, and, well… it hadn't seemed the right time. But now Arawin has finally gotten up the courage._

"_A man," Morwen says eventually. "Wearing a long coat. He had dark hair and a look as if he'd seen many battles. He rode to this village, and the first house he stopped out was ours. Your father and I—"_

_She winces. "…were—were happy to take another child and raise her as our own. Edward was only four at the time, and anyway he needed a playmate. He told us your name was to be Arawin, and left without saying his own."_

"_I undressed you—for you were dirtier than any child I'd ever seen—and out of your clothes fell a silver bracelet. _Mithril," _she says, pulling out the very bracelet. "forged by the dwarves of Moria. Obviously you were too young to wear it, so we kept it until the time was right. Today… I believe you're ready."_

_She opens Arawin's palm and places it inside. Arawin stares at it, face pale. She'd heard enough of the old legends to know how much this was worth. But at the same time, she can't even think of selling it. This was given to her from her real family, and she swears to herself that she would never take it off. _

_A charm hangs on the center of the bracelet: a sword with a broken tip. Arawin wonders what it means. Somehow she feels stronger holding it. She gives a weak smile to her mother, fastens the clasp around her wrist, and walks off._

* * *

Arawin rode her horse through the dense forest with her sister holding onto her waist. She rubbed the charm on her bracelet, slightly anxious. Once, when her mother had caught her doing the nervous habit, she had admonished Arawin, telling her that it would tarnish the silver.

It never had, however, and Arawin supposed it was some magic of the metal.

The trees zipped by, golden and light. Sun easily sneaked through the boughs of the trees at first, but with every few trots of the horse it grew darker and the trees more foreboding. Mildred stirred uneasily and tightened her grip around Arawin's waist. Arawin tightened _her _grip around her dagger and urged the horse to go faster.

That was her first mistake.

The horse whinnied and loped faster than she intended, but somehow the speed was exhilarating. Arawin had a crazy urge to laugh.

But suddenly, the horse shied, throwing Arawin and Mildred back with such force that they fell to the ground. Arawin landed hard on a rock and got the wind knocked out of her. Mildred started to cry.

Arawin gasped, grateful that her lungs were starting to work again. As for Mildred's, there was no doubt that _hers _were working, from the screams that were echoing out of her mouth.

Mildred cried louder, practically screaming now. The horse reared on its back legs, looking terrified.

Seized by a sudden instinct, Arawin pulled Mildred to her chest and clapped her hand over the eight year old's mouth. Mildred stared at her older sister, wide eyes astonished. Arawin had never used such force on her sister before.

"Quiet!" Arawin hissed. "Something is coming." She didn't know how she knew, but somehow she did. Her mother had always told her to trust in her instincts, and out in the wild she felt herself, more in tune with the world.

The wind rustled ominously. Silence fell, excepting the nervous trotting of the horse. Arawin kept her hand over Mildred's mouth and pointed her dagger around the clearing.

The horse, seeming to finally reach the end of its rope, galloped away. Arawin called after it helplessly, but the horse was gone.

She rubbed her bracelet. They'd just lost their mode of transportation. They would have to go on foot from then on, which would be much slower and they may not get to the king in time. But just then, Arawin's problems got a lot worse than a lost horse.

* * *

The orcs came from all sides, surrounding the two girls in a tight circle. They grinned evilly, and Arawin drew breath. It was like she was re-living the circumstances of her dream the night before, but this time she would _not _scream. She would go down bravely.

Arawin drew her knife, prepared to die defending Mildred, but suddenly hesitated. The orcs were using the Common Tongue for reasons she intended to find out. "Let's eat them." One said in a gravelly tone.

"No." Another said with slightly more intelligence sparking in his eyes. "My orders come from the White One. We are to capture the eldest girl and bring her to him. She has value to him."

"Why?" A third snarled. "I say we just eat them both and get it over with! I haven't had good man flesh in hours."

A few other orcs cheered in agreement. Mildred whimpered and shrunk behind Arawin.

"No, fools!" The lead orc growled. "Do you not remember the others that disobeyed the orders of the White One?"

That quieted the other monsters down. "But," the orc turned to Mildred, keen eyes gleaming. "I see no reason why we can't eat the youngest."

The orcs snorted in agreement and moved closer to Mildred. "Wait!" Arawin could stand it no longer. She drew her knife and pointed it into the neck of the leader's chin.

"You won't hurt her." Arawin commanded with authority she didn't know she could muster. She blew away a strand of hair that had gotten in front of her eyes and stared down the orcs as best she could.

They hissed and shrunk back. "Wicked girl has a little sting." The orc that had spoken first snarled. "But she can't use it against all of us."

"No," Arawin said calmly. "But I can get a fair few of you before the day is over."

The orcs jeered, but there was a hint of fear underlining their voices. _The beasts are cowards, _Arawin thought with no small satisfaction. _But that won't get me far._

The orcs huddled in a circle, whispering with many sidelong glances at their leader being held at the tip of a knife. Finally one stepped out. Arawin raised an eyebrow.

"We won't hurt the girl." He spat out. "We'll bring her captive with you. But if you do anything, we _will _kill her."

Arawin barely had to think about it. "Fine."

"We'll need the knife, girl."

Arawin dropped it. She used the motion to pull her bracelet as far up her arm as it would go. She wouldn't lose that, too.

The orc she'd been holding stumbled back, glaring at Arawin with such rage it took all the courage she had to not back away. She could tell that it was only fear of this 'White One' that kept him from slaughtering her where she stood.

Not exactly a comforting thought, but at least Mildred was safe… for now.

"A fair warning," one orc jeered at her. "You won't get any mercy from the White One. He ain't nice, like us."

Arawin rubbed her bracelet. She was in a fix now, and she had no idea how she was going to get out of it.

* * *

_A/N Longer, as promised. Who's the White One, you ask? Why does he want Arawin and not Mildred? Never fear, those questions will be answered... eventually._


	3. In the Halls of King Theoden

_A/N Merry Christmas, and/or Hanukkah to wonderful readers!_

* * *

Arawin plodded silently behind the orcs. She was connected to them by a thick rope, and her wrists were tied behind her back. Their horse, it turned out, was captured as well, and it was likely that the monsters would eat it. Arawin had saved her sister, but she doubted she could do the same to the horse.

"Move faster!" The orc she was connected to snarled. "Your sister will pay the price if you don't."

Arawin glanced back at Mildred, who was staring up at her with a look of fear in her eyes. Arawin did her best to smile reassuringly, though she was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace.

They traveled for hours with the orcs, and soon Mildred was whimpering about her sore feet. Arawin wished she would stop talking, but she didn't know if talking was allowed.

While they walked, Arawin tried to make sense of her being captured. Who was the 'White One'? Why did he want her and not Mildred? If he had somehow found out the reason for their wandering around, it would be more likely to order the orcs to just kill them so they would never make it to Edoras.

Suddenly a plan popped into her head. It was insane, and probably wouldn't work. But it was the only strand of hope they had, so Arawin held on to it like a lifeline.

"How d_are _you tie up the daughter of your Master!" She channeled as much indignant rage she could find. To help with her acting, she drew on memories of kids in her town who often had the expression of 'I'm so much better than you in every way' because their parents had more money. She pulled on an expression of proud dislike that she had seen them wearing.

Her plan was bent on assuming that the White One was a human, and that he inflicted so much fear on her followers that she could use to her advantage.

A few of the orcs laughed. "You? A child of the White One? Impossible!"

"Why do you think you were sent to capture, not kill me?" Arawin said. "I ran away. I hate him, but he is better than the filth I am with now." She twisted in her bonds.

"No doubt he'll scold me horribly, but his punishment upon _you _for binding me so harshly will be hideous to behold!" She could tell that here words were starting to get to the orcs. A few stirred uneasily and muttered.

She had a small chance, just a small one, to get out of here, just as long as the leader wasn't near enough to get near them. She was counting on the stupid ones to believe her.

"As well as tying up my servant—I cannot _believe_ such monsters, even you, would go so far! When the White One gets his hands on you, he'll deal worse punishments than you could even image." A wild, crazy add-on to her plan struck her. It would either have them all falling on the ground in laughter, or inflict the last stroke of fear needed.

"In fact…" She raised her bracelet. "This is a communication device, infused with magic! I could tell him right now of your treachery, and he would probably strike you down where you stand!"

That, apparently, was the last straw. The orcs roared and hissed. One still was doubtful, though, for he said, "Why is it that we have never seen you before, in our master's halls?"

"Did you not hear me, swine?" Arawin snarled. "I _ran away. _But I am perfectly happy to go back now, instead of getting captured by stupid orcs who don't know who it is they tie up! I am quite happy to follow you back to his domain, just as long as you untie me and my servant, for I do not know the way in this wretched forest."

The orcs murmured and muttered, until Arawin curled her lip. "Well? Shall I contact the White One and have him punish you for your crimes?"

The orcs rushed forward and untied her bonds, but one of them said, "We'll do this for you—as long as you don't tell the master of our—er, ignorance."

Arawin pretended to think about it. "Deal."

As soon as Arawin's and Mildred's bonds were cut, Arawin flew into action. She kicked the orc that had cut it in the crotch, plucked the knife that he had used out of his hand, and stabbed him in the chest. He howled and went down.

Just at that moment, the leader of the orcs came back to check on the proceedings. "What is all this howling—"

Arawin grabbed Mildred's hand and sprinted as quickly as she could to the horse. She removed the ropes holding it and mounted. A rock sailed through the air and bit into Arawin's head. She tasted blood and black spots swam in her vision, but she kept running. She _would_ _not_ faint.

She reached down to take Mildred's hand but suddenly her sister stiffened in pain. She cried out and fell limp in in Arawin's arms.

"_Mildred!" _

Arawin shifted her perspective and saw a knife sticking out of Mildred's side. _Her _knife. Arawin slowly looked up and saw the lead orc, his face twisted in a hideous smile.

Pure, distinctive rage filled Arawin's mind. With a strength that she never knew she had yet she'd been finding more and more lately, she yanked Mildred up to the horse and kicked it. The horse neighed, happy to get out of the range of the orcs, and galloped off into the distance.

She heard the yells and angry screams of the orcs, enraged at losing their prey. She would have smiled if not the knife sticking out of Mildred's side. Arawin had no experience medically whatsoever, and Mildred had fainted, so she couldn't tell Arawin anything.

The only thing she could think to do was to remove the knife and rip off a strip of her shirt to try to stem the blood flow. She just had to pray that she could make it to Edoras before it was too late. Her head throbbed, and every once and a while darkness gathered at the edges of her vision.

The trees zipped by, and slowly the bellows of the orcs grew fainter, but she didn't dare to slow down. Mildred's forehead was warm, which suggested fevering. The horse was foaming at the mouth, but Arawin didn't allow one rest, so great was her fear about Mildred's fate. She didn't spare a thought for her head.

She didn't even know if she was riding in the right direction. She could be riding _back _to the village, for all she knew. But at least she (sort of) had a destination in mind.

And so what felt like hours passed this way: Arawin ignoring her head, the horse resting for only a few minutes, Arawin tearing out more pieces of her clothing to bandage the wound.

Until finally, _finally…._

They breached the end of the forest and into the sunlight. She could see the borders of Edoras.

Arawin, nearly falling off the horse in exhaustion, had the horse trot towards the palace. Her adrenaline was fading, and she had used up the last wisps of energy for the last couple of miles of the journey. Her head throbbed painfully from the rock at her head, and her whole body was sore from riding a horse for hours.

She got about a yard away from the palace before the world tilted sideways. Through her rapidly fading vision she saw a dark haired man with intense eyes who somehow looked familiar, a man in a white robe with a staff, and a man whom Arawin thought looked like the king.

Arawin went cross-eyed, and she finally succumbed to the darkness overwhelming her. The last thing she saw was the three men turn and look at her before she toppled sideways and knew no more.

* * *

Arawin drifted slowly back to consciousness, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than she had in days… no, months. She wanted to go back to sleep, but her brain rudely interrupted her nirvana by remembering everything that had happened.

That got her very much awake. She opened her eyes quickly. For a moment she feared that she was back with the orcs and had been taken to wherever the 'White One' was. But then her brain helpfully supplied the details: she was riding; she had gotten hit in the head with a rock, Mildred had gotten stabbed in the side…

"Mildred!"

Arawin sat up (which was a grave mistake, her head evidently hadn't fully healed and she felt as if someone was slamming her forehead over and over again) and looked around.

She was in a light room, well lit, about the size of her living room back at home. There were rows of white beds, one of which she was laying on. Her gaze traveled to the back of the room and there…

"Your sister is quite safe."

A beautiful fair woman stood just outside the door. She smiled softly in Arawin's direction. Arawin was so relieved that she wasn't dead that she almost smiled back, but previous situations had taught her the hard way to be suspicious.

"Where is she?" Arawin demanded. "Where am I?"

"She is in a different ward, being tended by our best healers. That stab wound was quite severe, but she should be making a quick recovery. As for where you are," the woman smiled. "You are in the palace of Edoras, and I am Eowyn daughter of Eomund. Now you must tell us how you got here."

Arawin sighed in relief. Her mission was nearly complete.

Eowyn led her through the corridors of the castle, and many people opened their doors and looked out curiously. Arawin made herself stand straight-backed and proud. Finally they reached the final door; Eowyn opened it, and led Arawin through.

Three men stood in the Hall of Kings, but Arawin had eyes only for Mildred, looking nervous surrounded by all these important people. Arawin rushed to her and hugged her, and yes, a few tears may have escaped her eyes. Then she remembered herself, turned, and curtsied to the king as well as the two next to him.

The king sat on his throne at the end, who quite obviously was not the weak old man the rumors suggested, though he seemed to have recently suffered some great loss. An old man stood at his side whose face was lined with great care, and great power.

His old dark eyes scanned her sharply, and Arawin had the feeling that she was being seen right through.

"I am Arawin, daughter of Abelard, Your Majesty. I have come from the village of Eastfold to tell you…" Her voice faltered, but only for an instant. "To tell you of its peril."

Another stood nearest to Arawin, staring into the distance. It appeared to her that he was the one who was listening closest, and the news affected him the most. He had wild, unruly hair and grey eyes, very similar to hers. Arawin had the strangest feeling that she had seen him before, and was trying to place where.

He had started when she said her name, but when she glanced at him he wasn't looking at her, so she couldn't tell if she had imagined it or not.

Realizing that she had trailed off and everyone was waiting for her to continue, she cleared her throat and began to explain.

Reliving the experience was nearly as hard as the experience itself, and though she did not mention Adam, it brought back memories of his death. She had found him, lying on the ground with an orc stab wound. His eyes stared into nothing, and she had wanted to fall down and sob. The village was burning, burning from…

"Fire…" Arawin said in a hollow voice. Mildred sat behind her, hugging her legs and rocking back and forth nervously. Her wound had been mostly healed, but those who helped with the work said that she would always have a scar.

"…and death. As—as far as I know, Mildred and I were the only survivors. We had no warning. We were unarmed. They should be riding west, towards you. I—we—were sent to tell you this, by our mother, Morwen."

The king nodded. "Morwen… she was once the Queen's handmaiden, before her death. You say you are her daughters?" Arawin nodded and curtsied again. She nudged Mildred, prompting her to do the same. She started and sank into a hasty curtsy, but tripped and Arawin had to catch her, grinning.

She turned around and this time caught the stare of the dark haired man boring into her. She was tempted to say, _You know, it's rude to stare, _but figured that he was probably a pretty important person and wouldn't take kindly to her saying so.

She settled for a raise of an eyebrow and tried to convey her irritation with her expression. The man's face twisted in an amused grin for the briefest of seconds, but turned away.

The King and Eowyn looked at each other in concern. The old man in white spoke. "This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on."

Arawin drew breath sharply. Sauron? His name she had heard spoken only once, when she was very little. Edward had been trying to scare her with stories, but their Mother had silenced him.

"_I did not tell you that story for inflicting fear on your sister. That name should not be spoken lightly." _

That was the last time she had heard it, but the terror it had brought upon her had kept her up at night, and she never forgot it.

Arawin pulled herself out of her memories to hear what the old man was saying. "Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight."

Arawin stiffened. She wanted to stand and yell, '_the women and children can fight too!' _but she could almost hear Edward telling her to hold her tongue.

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak." The dark haired man spoke now. "Eomer is loyal to you. His men _will_ return and fight for their king."

The old man moved forward to speak again, but the King of the Mark raised his hand to silence him. "I know what it is that you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

Arawin watched, aghast. Her message hadn't helped; in fact, it seemed that it had achieved the opposite! The King was healthy and whole, yet he was too afraid to fight back against the evil that would plague more towns. Arawin was so furious that she found herself speaking, drawing all eyes to her.

"If I may speak, Your Majesty." She didn't wait for permission. "I'm afraid that even if you hide your people here, those in the outlying towns will continue to be plagued by the orcs. I don't want what happened to my sister and me to happen to anyone else. "

Arawin wanted to continue to protest, but she suspected that she was already pushing her luck. She sat back down to see Mildred staring at her in awe. "You actually _talked _to the King!"

The man who had been staring at her turned to look at her now, and there was something new in his eyes. Respect? Anger? Apprehension? Arawin met his gaze defiantly. She wasn't going to hold back now. She had been doing that for years, and she was sick and tired of it.

The man opened his mouth to speak. "The girl is right. Hiding these people won't save the rest. Open war is upon Rohan, whether you risk it or not."

King Theoden looked coldly at Arawin, and then turned his gaze to the other man who had spoken.

"When last I looked, Theoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan."

Aragorn, which evidently was what he was called, looked steadily back at the king. He must be a man of great importance, thought Arawin, to stand eye to eye with the King of Rohan.

"Then what is the King's decision?" The old man leaned on his staff and looked hard at Theoden.

The King of the Mark's eyes went from Aragorn, to the old man, to Arawin, and then outside to the mountains. "The city will empty. We will go to Helm's Deep."

Arawin turned away, disappointed. Her mission had failed. Other towns would continue to suffer… all because of a king's fear.

* * *

_A/N Relatively long this time! Hope you liked Arawin's interaction with Theoden and Aragorn. What do you think is his interest in her? Tell me your theories in a review, and special shout out to Fatalromance, the first reviewer!_

_Fatalromance:__ (Thank you so much! I really hope this chapter is up to your standards. Please keep reviewing!)_


	4. The Midnight Duel

_Legolas_

* * *

Legolas stood with Gimli, watching the two human girls be escorted to their quarters. The elf and dwarf had been standing outside the doorway, listening to the council. Aragorn hadn't given them permission to attend, but he hadn't expressly forbidden it, either. That was good enough for Gimli, so Legolas had followed.

"The girl was brave, wasn't she?" Gimli said in his gravelly voice. "Standing up to her king. When I was a lad, I didn't dare to stand up to my father, let alone King Dain."

"Yes." Legolas agreed, but his eyes followed the girl as she left. "I cannot say I'm surprised at Aragorn's interfering, nor will I say if he was wrong, yet arguing with the King of Rohan could jeopardize our alliance. Aragorn is not a king yet. "

"He will be." Gimli said confidently. A few moments passed in silence. "They looked similar. Did you notice?" He said eventually, referring to the girl and Aragorn.

Legolas hadn't, but now that the dwarf mentioned it, he did. "Their eyes," said Legolas. "They have the same sort of… well, light, I suppose. Though Aragorn's are wearier."

"I wonder what it all means." Gimli said quietly.

* * *

_Arawin_

* * *

Arawin had been lying in bed for hours—at least, that was what it felt like. Mildred had fallen asleep almost the second her head had touched pillow, yet Arawin's mind was not so easily quieted. So many questions were left unanswered, and she couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

She had told her story, the Higher Powers had discussed it, and that was that. Her part in this tale was over.

Suddenly more wide awake than ever, she swung her legs off her bed and tiptoed out the door, taking great care not to disturb Mildred. There were no guards at their door, unsurprisingly. They weren't of enough importance and soldiers were low at the moment anyway.

Arawin didn't know where she was going. She thought maybe she would roam the castle until she grew tired, but from her current disposition, she doubted that would happen any time soon. Somehow, her feet carried her down the stairs, through the halls, and through two big doors that seemed important.

Not particularly caring if she was caught, she swung them open and looked inside. She had evidently stumbled upon a training room.

The torches were still lit and surrounding the walls were straw dummies. Swords, bows, and spears lay in an open chest. Arawin made her way to it and picked out a sword. She had never trained with one before, there hadn't been any to spare in the village.

Well, now is a good a time as any to start, she thought, and got into battle position in front of a dummy.

She took her previous sessions with the dagger, and improvised. She slashed and twirled, her braids whipping around as she fought.

The grip felt right in her hands, and with an intoxicating feeling she knew that this was something she could do without being taught, this was _amazing. _It was almost like she was dancing. She was so intensely focused on her sword that she didn't hear the doors swing open.

"You have talent."

Arawin spun, the tip of her blade at the intruder's throat. She sheathed it, mortified, when she saw it was Aragorn. "Er… sorry." She brushed her hair behind her ear, certain she was about to be admonished for being out of her room, roaming the castle, using a castle sword, and last but most definitely not least, (accidentally) threatening an extremely important person.

But instead, and to Arawin's intense surprise, he drew his own sword. "Try against a living opponent."

She wondered if she had heard him right.

But, figuring that she really couldn't dig her hole deeper, she drew her sword again.

They fought for about five minutes. Arawin knew that he was going easy on her and could probably pin her down without half trying, but to her surprise she found herself holding her own. A slight smile appeared on Aragorn's face as the clangs of their swords hitting each other echoed through the room.

Finally, when Arawin was tired but no less exhilarated, she found herself on the ground, weaponless. Aragorn handed her back her sword and offered her his hand. She took it and stood up.

He studied her closely. "Have you had any training previous to this?"

"A bit, but not for the sword." She looked away, a pang of sadness at the reminder of Adam.

"You have natural talent." He repeated. "If not for your story, I would have mistaken you for a Shield-Maiden, born of the castle. What were you trained for?"

Arawin blushed at the compliment. "Dagger. But, ah… let's say that what my mother didn't know didn't hurt her."

Aragorn laughed, and Arawin found herself put at ease. Her smile faded when she remembered what time it was. She rubbed her bracelet nervously, and the action caught the other man's eye.

"What is that?" He asked suddenly.

"My bracelet." She automatically covered it from view with her hand. He noticed the movement and smiled at her.

"You need not be afraid." He said gently. "Aragorn the Ranger may be many things, but he is no thief. Can I see it?"

Reluctantly, she removed the clasp and dropped it in his palm.

Aragorn studied the bracelet cautiously. Arawin tried to tell what he was thinking, but his face was a mask—at first. His expression went from carefully controlled to surprise to downright shock.

"Do you know what this means?" He held the bracelet up, the charm dangling off his thumb. Arawin got the foreboding feeling that she was supposed to know something, like when she'd fallen asleep while the village instructor was teaching letters, and she'd woken up to find they were already done with the alphabet. That had not been a pleasant day.

She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and automatically went to rub her bracelet before she remembered that it was the whole reason she was uncomfortable in the first place.

"No," She said finally. Arawin didn't like admitting she didn't know something. The trait had gotten her into trouble before, especially training with Adam—she subconsciously slapped herself. _Don't go there right now._

"This… this is the symbol of the line of Isildur. The broken sword."

Arawin inhaled sharply. The line of Isildur…. Legends, stories, children's tales about the far-off land of Gondor. The elders of the village had told the children the story so it wouldn't die. That was part of the reason she had asked Edward about the rest of the story. She had felt as if something was missing. The story of Elendil and Isildur had always struck her as a great tragedy.

Arawin dragged herself out of her memories. Aragorn had started speaking again. "_Where_ did you get this?"

She pinched her lips together nervously. "I was found with it. My adoptive mother—"She winced. 'Adoptive' didn't feel like a good title for, as far as she was concerned, her real mother. "—she was unwrapping my clothes. It fell out of them. What?"

She added, frowning, for Aragorn was looking at her like he'd never seen her properly before.

"Arawin… I was the one who took you from your village."

She nearly dropped her sword. "You… _what?"_

"Over fifteen years ago now, I was in the country of Rohan, near the town of Broadacres. I saw smoke rising from the treetops, and went to see what it was a few hours later. It was much too big of a fire to be a campfire and in the night I had heard strange noises. If only I had come the second I had felt suspicious."

"I would have, if the situation had happened nearer to now, but back then was before I knew the Enemy was gaining power. The roads were generally much safer. I reached the border of the village… and there was nothing but destruction. The servants of the Dark Power had made a combined attack that no one had seen in years… centuries, even. It's likely the people were taken as slaves."

Arawin sat down heavily. Her parents…slaves to the Enemy! Aragorn watched her face with sorrow. It was almost as if he _knew_.

"I searched the town, but there was no one left. I was about to leave, until I heard crying. You were hidden under the roots of an oak tree, near a stream blessed by the Wood-Elves at the beginning of the Third Age. Your parents were sharp. They knew the places dark creatures were the least likely to look. Elf power would have both repulsed and scared them. You were only about one or two."

"I was two." Arawin said in a hollow voice. She felt as if the world had gotten swept out from under her feet. So, both of her homes had been destroyed by Sauron. He had likely killed, either directly or indirectly, both her parents.

"Two, then." Aragorn walked over and sat next to her. It felt strange, but somehow… right.

"I picked you up and found a bit of paper with the words _Arawin, daughter of Arahael. _I found no bracelet. I rode for the nearest village, which was called Westfold. The house I stopped at was quite happy to take you, though they seemed less accommodating to me."

"My mother called you a suspicious outsider," said Arawin faintly. Aragorn gave a dry smile.

"I'm sure I earned the title, if I'm being honest."

"But why didn't you tell my parents of my mother's name?" Arawin assumed that he hadn't, but she supposed it was likely that her mother had simply kept it from her.

"I thought it would help you settle in. You were your adoptive parents' child at that moment, not Arahael's."

"'Arahael' was just as much my mother as Morwen." She felt a small bubble of anger. Though rationally she knew she couldn't have done anything with the name, her emotional side (which often won over in these types of things) was outraged that even the smallest piece of information about her birth parents had been kept from her.

As a child she had only briefly thought about the implications that came with being adopted, but as she grew older she started thinking more about where she came from. Were her parents dark-haired, like her? Was her mother stern or kind, or more of a mix of both, like Morwen? Was her father around more often? Might she have had real brothers and sisters?

True, she loved her siblings, but they were just so… well, different. Adam—Arawin rubbed her eyes furiously, she would _not _cry in front of such an important person—had assured her that it was normal for her to feel that way, but this was different, and they both knew it.

She had always been the loner in the family, the odd one out. Edward and Mildred both had easy-going natures, Arawin held fast to her ideals like a stubborn ox. Edward was a peacemaker; Arawin was often the one starting the fights. Mildred was quite happy to sit and sew for three hours, but Arawin could barely sit still for three minutes.

Edward and Mildred's hair was both golden, the norm for those born in Rohan. Arawin's dark hair was a rarity in those parts and she had often received more than one funny looks due to it.

That was often the cause of her picking fights; also the reason Adam was her only friend. He had managed to see past her indifferent exterior she'd built up, and she liked him all the better for it.

Realizing she had gotten lost in her thoughts and Aragorn was looking at her with raised eyebrows, she cleared her throat.

"Um… could I have my bracelet back now?"

"Of course." He handed it back to her and she quickly fastened the clasp. Remembering what had triggered this story in the first place, she asked, "How do you know the symbol of Isildur's line?"

Aragorn opened his mouth to answer, but somehow the look on his face told her that what he told her wouldn't be the truth—at least not all of it.

"And don't tell me you read it in a book somewhere. You have a deeper tie with all of this than you let on. You're not even from here. You hair is brown, like mine. We're a blond country, if you haven't already noticed."

He closed it, and then smiled. "You're quite observant."

He rose from his seat and stood tall, and suddenly Arawin wondered if it was a good idea to have confronted him like that.

"Well, Arawin daughter of Arahael, I suppose since I know your story, it is only fair that you know mine. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, only heir to the line of Isildur and heir to the throne of Gondor."

Arawin's eyes widened and she dropped into a curtsy. She now understood why he had sounded so shocked when he had told her about her bracelet. A small flash of something flashed in Aragorn's eyes when he saw her curtsying, but an instant later it was gone and she thought she must have imagined it.

He put a hand under her arm and pulled her up. "I am not king yet," He asserted. "At the moment, I am of no higher ranking than you." Arawin blinked in surprise. She had assumed he was a prince, or at least something similar.

"What do ranks even matter?" She asked, suddenly confessing something that had bothered her for a long time. "If you have the courage to do something that matters, it shouldn't matter whether you're a commoner of a royal. That said," She rubbed her bracelet. "Of course you're of higher rank than me. You argued with the King of Rohan."

"So did you." He pointed out. Arawin winced, remembering her pronouncement to the king. "I'm not criticizing you," Aragorn said. "That was an exceedingly brave thing to do."

She thanked him, but yawned, suddenly feeling tired. She glanced at the window and saw the sky lightening and stars disappearing. "I should probably, um, get some sleep while I can."

"As should I." Aragorn looked out at the soon-to-be-morning sky, and something in him looked despondent. Suddenly she thought of something that hadn't occurred to her mind before.

"Why were _you _up?"

Aragorn summoned a smile, but Arawin looked closer and noticed how exhausted and worried he looked. "The war… it isn't going well, is it?"

He sighed.

Arawin looked out the window, and she saw the flag of Rohan fall of its peak and drift slowly to the ground.

* * *

_A/N:__ Thank you for everyone who followed or favorited, or even to anyone to reads this story. Given the masses reaction towards OCs, I didn't expect this to get a lot of attention. _

_Anyway, I'm just going to clear some things up real quick: I have read both the books and seen the movies, and the canon I'm operating in in this story is kinda like a hazy mix between both. So if you see something mentioned that doesn't happen in the movies, then it's likely it happened in the book, and vice versa._

_As usual, please review, it makes my day to know someone's reading this. Special shout out to Fatalromance!_


	5. Reunited

Arawin woke up to the sound of animals moving. She sat up and rubbed her eyes blearily. She felt like she'd just lay down to sleep after her discussion with Aragorn and had just been woken up moments later.

Mildred stretched in her bed, looked around, and immediately started crying. Arawin rushed over to hug her. She knew exactly what Mildred was crying about. Arawin pressed Mildred's head against her chest and held her, staring out the window silently. Mildred's sobs were muffled and Arawin's shirt was wet from her tears.

* * *

_The History of Rohan… Ruling Stewards of Gondor and their Lineage… The Life and Times of Eomund…_

Arawin's fingers brushed against the smooth spines of the books in Edoras' castle library. The silence pressed against her and the air had the musty smell of old books.

She glanced back apprehensively at the doorway to the library, hoping that the stern-looking librarian she'd distracted using rather, ah, unorthodox methods, wouldn't return. She had left Mildred to a kind caregiver who was more than happy to take her for a little while.

In all the hustle and bustle of a whole city packing up to leave, it had been quite easy to sneak her way into the castle library. Her midnight talk with Aragorn had left her with a flurry of questions about the line of Isildur.

Although she hadn't exactly been the best student at the town school, when a subject interested her, she could whiz through the biggest tomes. But the schoolmaster and herself hadn't been best friends, to say the least, so often times she had skipped school.

When she did come, however, she had paid more attention to her lessons than he had thought, though she had never enjoyed them. She searched through the hundreds of books, trying to find one that obtained the information she was looking for.

"The Strange Habits of the Halflings… The Desolation of Smaug… Pointy Ears: A Study of Elves..." She murmured the titles of the books to herself. Finally—here was something that looked promising.

It was titled, 'The Line of Kings', and it was long, but not as long as some of the other books in there.

She flipped through the pages, skimming when necessary. She read about Elendil's death and his two sons, Isildur and Anarion, finding themselves both heirs to one throne. She read about the country being split into two lands, Arnor and Gondor, and Arnor's early fall.

She read about the Ruling Stewards taking the throne of Minas Tirith until the true king returned, and how the line was rumored to be continued in the Dunedain, or the Rangers of the North. Arawin found herself wondering why Aragorn had not declared himself king. She recalled the pained look in his eyes when she'd curtsied to him. At the time she had dismissed it, but now she wondered if it was something more.

Arawin was about to close the book, having found answers to most of her questions, when she noticed something that caught her interest.

The chapter heading was titled, _The Lost Branch of Isildur's Line. _She began reading,

_My research on the of Isildur brought me first to Firiel, daughter of King Ondoher of Gondor. She had two older brothers, __Artamir__ and Faramir I, who were both future heirs to the southern kingdom of __Gondor__. Fíriel was wedded to Prince Arvedui of __Arnor__ in __TA 1940__ during a time when Arvedui's father, the king of Arnor, made an alliance with King Ondoher. _

_Firiel and Arvedui had one son named __Aranarth__. The alliance between the two kingdoms came to nothing and was a failure because both Gondor and Arnor were under attack, so neither could help the other._

_During the battles, not only was King Ondoher killed, but both his sons died as well. This meant that according to the Law of __Númenor__, Fíriel was now the Ruling Queen of Gondor. Arvedui used this to his advantage, as well as the fact that he was a direct descendant of Isildur. He used this argument to claim the crown of Gondor in an attempt to unite the __Two Kingdoms__, but this was refused by Gondor. Fíriel remained with her husband in Arthedain, and when the kingdom fell to __Angmar__ in __TA 1974__ after a battle, it was said that she probably fled with her son._

_In most history books, this is where her story ends. Other pains will write of the demise of Arthedain and Angmar. But after extensive research, I have discovered that Firiel was pregnant with another child at the time of her exile. This is ground-breaking news, and raises many questions. _

_Did the child survive? If so, where did he or she live? Did they produce more children? And, most importantly of all—are there more heirs to the throne of Gondor? Is it possible that the line of kings isn't as dead as many believe? Unfortunately, all these questions have no answers._

_Since at the time that I have written this book is 2946 of the Third Age, the world is much changed since nearly one thousand years ago... so either the line of Firiel has continued after these long years, or died off. _

_To my great disappointment, I hit a dead end after my discovery of Firiel's pregnancy. We must hope that if there is someone out there, they will find their way to the truth—and the throne of Minas Tirith._

"Hey! You!"

Arawin jumped so hard she slammed her head into a bookshelf. The librarian stormed into her section and slammed the book shut.

"_You _are the one who chased my horse into the woods! By Eorl's beard, it took me two and a half hours to track it down! And in the middle of an evacuation too, I've never seen the like—"

Apparently rendered speechless from fury, the librarian made some obscene gestures and odds with her age and grabbed Arawin by the ear, dragging her out of the library.

Arawin winced, but couldn't keep a grin from spreading over her face. It _had _been pretty funny to see a stuffy old lady run out into the woods. Try as she might, she couldn't quite make herself feel remorseful.

The woman must have seen Arawin's smirk, for she pushed her outside the doors and screamed, "Out! _Out!_ I never want to see your face again!"

She slammed the doors in Arawin's face.

Arawin walked away, rubbing her sore ear, but smiling for a job well done.

Having nothing better to do, Arawin began to make her way back to the caretaker who had helped Mildred. Doing so required picking her way straight through the middle of the castle, veering left to the grounds, and dodging the gardens.

She was fairly sure she had remembered the route, but she couldn't be one hundred percent sure. She had no idea how people managed to live in these castles; she'd go crazy just navigating through them every day.

Her direction in mind, she finally made it out of the castle and into the grounds. She closed her eyes and breathed in, enjoying the smell of fresh air. She looked around at the scenery, admiring the forest and the mountains bordering the land.

Edoras truly was picturesque, it was too bad they were evacuating, she could have had a good life here. Honestly, it was just too bad that this war was happening at all. Arawin smiled grimly, because the words 'too bad' hardly seemed to compensate the carnage and death that was infiltrating the world.

But right, then, it was hard to believe that anything dark was happening, with the sun shining on her face and the wind blowing her hair around.

Realizing she was getting lost in her thoughts, she started to make her way in the caretaker's direction… and suddenly spotted a very familiar mop of blond hair.

She could hardly believe what she was seeing, but… "Edward?"

He turned, and Arawin's eyes felt strangely misty as she saw the wonderfully familiar boyish face. A smile brightened her brother's eyes and he rushed over to hug her.

"Arawin! You're here! But…" He released her. "_How_ are you here? Did Mother think you were old enough to work?"

She winced at the reminded of their mother. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.  
"It's a really, _really, _long story." _…and not one I could get into without bursting into extremely undignified tears, _she thought ruefully.

Edward narrowed his eyes, studying her more closely, probably taking in her pale, drawn face and red eyes.

"What's happened?" He said softly. Arawin turned away before he could gauge anything else from her expression. Luckily, Mildred chose that time to bowl over Edward with a hug.

"EDDY!" She threw her arms around his waist. Edward stumbled backwards in surprise. "Hey girly!" He picked her up as easily as she was a rag doll.

"_Both_ of you are here?" He shot Arawin a look that said, _tell me. Now. _She shook her head vehemently, smile quickly fading. Edward's grin turned into a glare as well.

-_red, flames, blood, sweat, taste of dirt, smell of smoke, Adam, no!- _Edward grabbed her arm, ignoring the look in her eyes as she yanked herself back to the present moment.

"What are you so afraid of? Just tell me—"

She yanked her hand away, unshed tears threatening to rise up. "Please. Not right now."

Edward set Mildred down, and cast his eyes out to the distance, where the first stream of people were already leaving.

"Don't tell me you had something to do with that."

Surprised, Arawin looked at him. "You don't know?"

"No. Hama, the king's trumpeter, just came out and announced we were evacuating. Only the senior guards really know anything. Come on, Arawin, you've got to tell me what's going on."

She took a shaky breath, finally relenting, and told him. She left out her duel with Aragorn the night before. Something about it felt too private.

Edward sank to his knees and closed his eyes. "I wondered," He said, his voice wavering. "There were rumors of a new breed of orcs that were trying to beat back the villages near the Gap of Rohan, and since we've literally lived in the shadow of Isengard our whole lives…" He sighed.

"But there was no news, so I'd convinced myself that—that it…" He punched his hand into the grass. "I should've _been _there, I should've helped—"

"There's nothing you could have done." She put a hand on his shoulder. "There were too many of them."

"And there's been no word from Mother?"

Arawin shook her head mutely. Mildred started to ask a question, but it was drowned out by the sound of the horns.

"Announcing the commencement of the official evacuation of Edoras. Items you have not packed must be left, for we are to leave immediately." The message was repeated one more time, and then the trumpeters retreated.

Arawin's heart sank. She had been holding out hope that Morwen would show up, somehow, with her old smile, and they would be together again like it used to be. But since that city was evacuating, she wouldn't know where they were. Her last hope was gone.

Edward squeezed her hand. "It'll be okay." He said slightly awkwardly. Edward had never been the type of person who held hands and gave hugs, but she was comforted by his act all the same.

Arawin took Mildred's hand, and for a moment the three of them stood there, the last remnant of their family. Somehow, their gazes were all drawn to the white tower in the northwest.

In the distance, the smoke from the fires of Isengard was rising.

* * *

_A/N __In the next two chapters things will really heat up. I'm extremely excited to write them! _

_I'm dropping SO much foreshadowing right now, it's like, YOU get some foreshadowing and YOU get some foreshadowing and YOU—sorry I'll shut up now. Thanks for reading and please review!_


	6. The Journey to Helm's Deep

Arawin's feet hurt.

She felt like she had been walking for hours. She glanced up at the sun. She _had _been walking for hours.

Mildred wasn't helping, either. She kept moaning and groaning about how tired she was, and how she wanted Eddy, and why couldn't he come back there with them?

Arawin had all of those complaints, too, but at least she kept them to herself. The castle guards were stationed at the front of the line near the king and his consorts, so Edward wasn't anywhere near them. If Arawin had that power, she would have told the guards to be stationed at the flanks of the people, so that if they were attacked, they would be protected.

At least Eowyn, the one who had tended to Arawin while she was unconscious, was close to the back of the people. Arawin and Mildred were near the back as well, in front of a family of crying children. Luckily, after so many hours near them, she had learned to tune them out.

She hoped that Mildred was concentrating more on her complaining than the weapon strapped to Arawin's hip. She may or may not have 'borrowed' a sword from the castle armory so she could protect herself and Mildred, but she was worried her guilty face might show.

They kept on like that, walking for a very long time. Arawin never got bored, simply because the scenery was amazing. At least, until she accidentally looked to the East and saw the fires.

Suddenly (Arawin was trying to remember the distance from Edoras to Helm's Deep to calculate how much longer it would take, so she wasn't paying attention) Mildred screamed.

Arawin looked around to see the cause, and when she saw what it was, she immediately drew her sword. A Warg with an orc on it was tumbling down the cliff. It regained its bearings surprisingly quickly, rambled up to some guard's horse, and bit the guard's head off.

Arawin inhaled sharply and put a hand over Mildred's eyes. She squirmed and forced Arawin's hand away. She heard Aragorn's voice calling, "We're under attack! We're under attack!" He ran down to Eowyn, who was holding his horse, and mounted it.

Screams echoed through the air. The king's horse galloped down to Eowyn and the king dismounted. Arawin hurriedly tried to sheath her sword, but Theoden didn't even glance at her. She was too far away to hear, but she saw Theoden start argue with Eowyn.

Her beautiful face got steadily angrier as the king debated, until finally she nodded. Arawin saw Eowyn storm back towards the people and ended up near Arawin and Mildred.

"Is this always to be my lot?" Eowyn said. It almost seemed like she didn't know that she was saying it aloud. "To stay behind and protect—"

"Never to fight alongside the people I love?" Arawin finished suddenly. Eowyn stared at her.

Arawin was embarrassed, but held Eowyn's gaze. She had suddenly known what Eowyn was going to say, because she had said nearly the same thing to herself her whole life.

"You know how it feels." Eowyn said. It wasn't a question.

Arawin shifted, unsure what to say. "Sometimes I feel as if it is my life. I love taking care of my sister, but sometimes I just want to do more."

Eowyn marveled at the girl. "It's like you plucked the words out of my head." Her eyes sparkled, and she pushed Arawin towards the cliffs, where the sounds of the battle could already be heard.

"Go. Fight with that sword you don't have." She said.

Arawin stared. "I—"

"I know what it is to feel unneeded." She said softly. "I don't want anyone else to feel it.

"You're coming too?"

The older woman smiled sadly. "I have my duty. I'll protect your sister, and kill some orcs for me, will you?"

Arawin lingered for a moment, pinching herself to make sure this wasn't a dream. "_Thank you_." She sprinted towards the battle.

She walked up the hill, and a gruesome sight met her eyes. Guards and orcs alike lay dead on the plains. To Arawin's immense relief, she saw no sign of Edward among the fallen.

An orc on a Warg spotted her and with a snarl, it attacked. Arawin sidestepped the charging Warg, causing it to pause. She then stabbed into the side of the beast, causing it to howl and keel over.

The orc jumped down from his perished mount and looked at Arawin in disgust. "You picked a doomed side, girl."

She didn't bother to respond. She slashed at the monster's ankles. Her silver bracelet flashed in the sunlight, catching the orc's eyes.

This distraction caused him to jump away one second too late. Her sword caught his shin and blood spurted out of the wound.

The orc howled and tried to stab his sword into her side. Arawin twisted, feinted a blow, and was about to plunge her sword into him when she felt a stabbing pain in her leg.

She whirled around; accidentally slashing the orc she had been fighting's face, causing it to stumble away dazedly. Doing her best to ignore the throbbing in her leg, she faced her new attacker.

He was a big one, and by the leer on his face she gathered that he was the one who'd so rudely stabbed her when she was just innocently trying not to die.

The orc was ugly, like most were, but Arawin recognized on his face something that she'd seen on many adults: underestimation. She was about to groan when an idea struck her: maybe… maybe she could use it to her advantage.

She fell back and started crawling away, forcing a look of terror on her face. The orc sneered and was about to slam his heavy sword into her when she rolled to the side. He frowned, confused, and tried to tug his sword out of the ground.

Arawin jumped up and got behind her opponent. Unfortunately, this one had armor, but it was weak under their arms and in the neck. She decided to go for the neck.

She didn't get the head to come clean off, but it was a good enough hit that she was pretty sure that this one was dead.

She looked around and saw an elf rushing towards her. He looked confused when he saw the dead orc on the ground. Hmm… maybe she should try this 'underestimating' thing more.

She wiped her word on the grass near her, and, confidence restored, flew into battle.

Every kill was a challenge, but Arawin had never felt so right in doing anything in her whole life. She was fighting for her country, but best of all, she was protecting her family. It was still what she had been raised to do, she realized, but in a different way.

Orcs fell to her blade, and if anyone noticed her lack of male gender, they didn't comment on it.

In a break in the fighting, Arawin's attention was caught by a Warg with a human rider. She looked closer and saw that it was Aragorn. She whipped around just in time to see it tumble of the cliff.

She blinked. Did she really just see that? No, she couldn't have. Aragorn couldn't have just… _died. _It must have been something else, something…

She felt that she was kidding herself. That was a long, long fall. But to lose someone else—she just _couldn't do it._

The elf and the dwarf she'd seen fighting earlier both yelled his name. The elf bent down to see if there were any tracks, but she knew that there wouldn't be any. An orc whom she'd first assumed to be dead starting chuckling and coughing at the same time.

Arawin rushed over to him at the same moment as the elf and dwarf. The two looked at her, and they all silently agreed that they all had enough problems at the moment than to comment on how or why either of them had gotten there.

"Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing." The dwarf growled, raising his formidable ax. The orc cackled.

"He's… dead."

"He can't be." The color drained from Arawin's face.

The elf grabbed him, as if shaking him would somehow bring out a different answer. "You lie." The orc laughed his last laugh, and died.

The elf grabbed something on the ground and put it in his pocket. Arawin ran to the cliff where Aragorn had fallen off and saw nothing but rushing waters.

The elf seemed to register her. "You are the girl who delivered the message to King Theoden."

"I am Arawin, daughter of…" Arawin took a breath, finally deciding to let go and embrace her real mother. "Arahael."

"I am Legolas of the Wood Elves." Legolas nodded to her. "And I am Gimli son of Gloin." The dwarf said.

Arawin realized that the people were gone and that there was nowhere for her to go except with a king who probably wouldn't be happy that she had snuck here.

Legolas studied her closely. Arawin had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being probed. Legolas glanced at Gimli, who shrugged. It seemed that they were having a silent conversation of some kind.

"You can ride with us back to Helm's Deep." Legolas told her. To Arawin's surprise, a lump in her throat appeared. Aragorn was dead, Mildred was gone (and Arawin knew she wasn't far away, but at the moment she felt thousands of miles distant), and here was this elf and dwarf she'd never met offering to take her to Helm's Deep.

"Thank you." She said sincerely. Gimli shrugged as if to say it was nothing.

"Aragorn mentioned you." Legolas informed her. "He said you were brave and not an ordinary mortal. Those who have met him-the _real _Aragorn-must stick together. It is what he would have wanted.

Arawin thanked him again and prepared for a long journey to Helm's Deep.

* * *

_Isengard_

"Gandalf the White. Gandalf the Fool!"

Saruman strode angrily around his tower, listening to the report of Grima Wormtongue. The man truly was disgusting, and Saruman was at a loathe that Rohanian was even permitted to be in his presence-but the man was useful, and unfortunately, usefulness was hard to come by these days.

"Does he seek to _humble _me with his newfound piety?"

"There were three who followed the wizard," said Wormtongue. "an Elf, a Dwarf, and a man." Saruman paused momentarily in his pacing and wrinkled his nose. "You stink of horse."

"The man... was he from Gondor?"

Wormtongue cleaned his lip with a cloth. "No, from the North. One of the Dunedain Rangers, I thought he was. His cloth was poor, and yet he bore a strange serpents with emerald eyes: one devouring, the other crowned with golden flowers."

The description triggered something in Saruman's memory, and he looked through one of his tomes to find the right description. He curled his lip when he discovered what it meant.

"The Ring of Baharir. So... Gandalf Greyhame thinks he has found Isildur's heir." He smiled. "Unfortunately for him..." He picked up a book and turned to a page titled, _Isildur's Locket. _The picture under it showed a silver bracelet made out of _mithril_, with a broken sword hanging from the tip.

"I have found our own."

* * *

_A/N In conclusion: Arawin killed some orcs, met Legolas and Gimli, and also apparently lost another parent figure! Hooray! You know, sometimes I almost feel bad for my characters, because I really make their lives suck._

_Thanks for reading!_


	7. The Price of Royalty

Edward was completely fine.

She had been on a horse close to Gimli and Legolas, when Edward charged up to her on his own horse and nearly made her fall of from asking if she was all right.

"I'm fine, brother dear," Arawin said, hoping that it was only halfway a lie. Her leg _did_ feel much better because Legolas, like all elves if the stories were true, had healing talents and fixed it up. Emotionally though… well, that was a different story.

She was just glad she hadn't seen Aragorn's face when he had fallen off that cliff. She wasn't sure what she would have felt if she had. The pain in her heart was so strong and continuous that now she barely noticed it anymore. Well, that wasn't completely true.

She remembered her first taste of the ache when she had only been ten or eleven. She had only just begun to understand that her father wasn't going to come back.

"Mother," she asked her. "Why do we choose to love people when it hurts so much when they're gone?" She got the words out with difficulty, and tears threatened to overwhelm her again. Then her mother turned around and looked at her daughter full in the face.

"Arawin, you must listen to me." In her eyes Arawin saw a fire that didn't show up very often, but when it did, you were to listen.

"You will feel the pain of loss even when you don't choose to love. The real question is, will you feel only the agony because you are afraid that it will get worse, or will you embrace the love and the joy that comes with it, along with the pain? You must throw yourself out there, Arawin, and feel every emotion that life has to offer. You can close yourself off from joy, but you can never, no matter how hard you try, close off the grief. Do you understand?"

But now as Arawin looked at the shadow of Helm's Deep in the distance, Arawin wondered whether or not her mother was right. If she hadn't let herself go with Adam, would she still have cried for him? If she hadn't been so stupidly adventurous and itchy for more that night, would she have still felt the dark pit in her stomach for Aragorn?

Arawin didn't know, but the obvious answer to her was no. Still, her mother's words rang with truth. To honor her, Arawin decided, Arawin would continue to love, even if the sadness and torment tore her apart because of it.

The rest of the trip passed mostly uneventfully. Maybe the orcs decided that it wasn't worth the trouble to attack an armed, grief-stricken group who were quite happy to utterly destroy whoever was even slightly responsible for Aragorn's death.

Or maybe that was just her.

The rolling scenery somehow felt less beautiful than the first half of their journey. Legolas and Gimli seemed to share those sentiments.

"My eyes seem drawn more towards the East than the mountains of late, Master Elf. Do you share the feeling?" Gimli said.

Arawin sensed that the Elf was usually cheerful, but today Legolas's brow was lined, as if the weight of his years were catching up to him. "Both the mountains and the East carry foreboding, for me." He said.

Gimli nodded. "I suppose that's true."

Arawin calmed her horse, deigning not to say anything, as to not draw more attention to her presence. The king wouldn't be happy if he ever cared enough to look behind him and see her. As for the knights, she figured that they were too tired to report.

When the full might of Helm's Deep came into view, the exhausted Rohirrim cheered. The group rode into the stronghold amid clapping and yells of joy, and Arawin made no attempt to hide her hair. She rode with her back straight and her chin erect, eyes flashing defiantly.

She knew her posture was probably disrespectful in some way, but at the moment she didn't really care. She dismounted her horse and a few feet ahead of her, she saw a familiar mane of curly blond hair.

Eowyn was smiling as she hugged the King, but as he left Arawin saw the shieldmaiden looking around for something… or someone. Arawin sighed, feeling that it was her duty to tell Eowyn what had happened, but that didn't mean she was particularly excited about it.

She moved carefully through the crowd, ignoring the stares at the sword hanging on her side. Eowyn turned to see her and her smile brightened.

"Oh, I was wondering if you were alright. How did it go?"

Arawin hesitated, and then dipped her head. "My lady," Eowyn frowned.

"Please stop that. Why are you being formal? I don't know you very well yet, but you don't seem the type of person to bow to royalty."

Arawin almost smiled at that. Almost. She hesitated again. "I—did you know the Lord Aragorn?"

The surprise was evident on her pale face. "Yes, I do… we've met." The full extent of what Arawin had said hit her suddenly. "What—what do you mean by 'did you'? Is he all right?"

Arawin suddenly found it hard to speak. It was like a lump appeared in her throat, preventing her from talking. She swallowed a few times and found the courage to tell her. "He—he fell." She cleared her vocal cords. "We couldn't find a body. I thought that I should tell you. I'm sorry."

Eowyn looked like she'd been punched. Her face crumpled and she turned away. "I must help my uncle—I mean the King." She murmured, and hurried away.

Arawin rubbed her bracelet. Would Eowyn hate her for delivering the news? Arawin was starting to like her. She seemed to be the only person who really understood her, and she looked to be only a few years older than Arawin, being seventeen herself.

It was too bad, she thought as she watched Eowyn's retreating back, if there wasn't a war going on, they might have been friends.

* * *

Mildred was playing with the doll that Edward had made for her when Arawin found her.

The doll had only been made out of a few corn stalks, but Mildred treasured it like it was the most valuable thing in the world.

Arawin smiled sadly at the strangely domestic scene. It seemed so out of place here, but then, as the saying went, home was where the heart was. "Winnie! You're not dead!" Mildred looked up and, seeing her sister, hugged her fiercely.

Arawin extricated herself gently. "Never call me Winnie." Mildred stuck out her lower lip. "But Winnie sounds better."

"I disagree." Arawin thought it was best to move on before she had a full blown fight on her hands. "How was the journey back?"

Millie tilted her head, thinking. "It went okay. I got to ride on the back of a horse with this blond lady. She was nice."

Arawin nodded in satisfaction. Eowyn had been true to her word, then. If she was going to be honest with herself, Arawin had had a nagging worry in the back of her mind the whole battle that she had read the woman incorrectly. She was relieved that she had been proven wrong.

* * *

_Aragorn_

"Mae carnen, Brego, mellon nin." _Well done, Brego, my friend. _

Aragorn patted his horse gently when he saw Helm's Deep in the distance. He'd ridden the horse harder than ever since he'd seen the huge army of Uruk-Hai, but Brego had shown only small signs of tiring.

It truly was a miracle that the horse had come when it had, and Aragorn had the feeling that it wasn't a coincidence—something or someone had sent him. As always, a wellspring of emotion rose to the surface when he thought of Arwen.

Unconsciously, his hand went up to his neck, where the Evenstar Pendant should have been. It had been a habit ever since Rivendell—a reminder of where he'd come from and who he had to fight for.

Brego nickered softly, sensing his master's hand had gone slack in the reins. Aragorn patted him again, appreciating the horse's reminder. Now was not the time to think about that, he thought evenly, and pushed his wayward emotions to a place where he could deal with them later.

It was funny, he thought little bitterly, that no matter the situation, human emotions still insisted on being recognized. Sometimes he wished that he really _was _the stoic, fearless commander that those he led saw him as. He had been told frequently that he was a natural leader, and he knew it was the truth, but being a leader was a lonely path.

Men didn't like it when those they idolized didn't live up to their standards, which, unfortunately, meant that one could not show weakness. Not that Aragorn cared what most thought of him. The people of Bree believed Strider was a troublemaker. He could live with that. He always had. But that did not mean he necessarily enjoyed it.

A cold wind whipped through the air, and Aragorn admonished himself for drifting off again. He urged the horse faster, and, tossing his mane, Brego complied.

The horse galloped noisily through the streets of Helm's Deep as the Eorlingas gaped unashamedly. He heard horns blowing and knew his presence was being announced.

A small grin came over his face as Aragorn thought of seeing Gimli and Legolas again. The gruff dwarf had grown on him, and Legolas, of course, he had known for years, ever since he'd gone into self-imposed exile after the Battle of the Five Armies.

And suddenly, to Aragorn's surprise, a new face popped into his mind: Arawin, the young woman he had met a few days earlier. She was quite an unusual girl, he thought. She was brave and intelligent, yet from his short experience with her, he saw that there was not a trace of intentional slyness or deceit in her, apart from a dash of mischief.

She hadn't shirked from her duty when her mother had given it to her; instead, she'd thrown herself into the task. The disappointment on her face had been clear when Theoden had decided against Aragorn and Gandalf's council.

As well as her strange history—that only increased her mystery. He recalled her _mithril _bracelet and he frowned a little. The image tucked at his memory. He could have sworn he'd seen it before, perhaps in his studies at Rivendell, but he couldn't quite place it.

His thoughts were driven neatly out of his mind when he reached the gates—a scowling, charging dwarf had that effect on a person. Grinning, Aragorn dismounted his horse to meet his friend.

"Where is he? _Where is he? _Get out of my way; I'm going to KILL HIM!" Gimli was pushing his way through the crowd, and when he caught sight of Aragorn, he made his way directly to him.

"You! You are the most… you are the luckiest, the canniest, and the most reckless man I ever knew!" He squeezed Aragorn so hard Aragorn thought that he could feel his ribs cracking. "Bless you, laddie!"

A 'proper' noble would have been scandalized at Gimli's nickname for Aragorn, but he himself didn't mind it. He enjoyed being treated normally—it helped him keep up the delusion that he wasn't heir to a throne.

The smile faded from his face as he remembered the urgency of his return. "Gimli, where is the king?" Gimli screwed up his face in distaste and pointed down the street, where Aragorn ran into Legolas.

"Le ab-dollen." _You're late. _The elf took in Aragorn's full appearance and frowned. "You look terrible." Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but just then, a new voice entered his hearing.

"Oh, Master Elf, don't pretend you knew he was alive. You were just as relieved as the rest of us when you heard."

Arawin stepped in front of Legolas and her teasing smile turned into a glare as she started using many creative words in Dwarvish, the language that offered the widest variety of them. There were some that even he, in his long years, had never heard.

Aragorn didn't really want to know where she had learned them.

Legolas' eyes widened at the girl's nerve, but relaxed when he saw that Aragorn was more amused than offended. Gimli, standing behind them, nodded in approval, and Aragorn thought he knew where Arawin had learned her new words.

She finally took a breath. "I can't believe you! Do you have any idea how devastated we were?" Her initial anger was fading, and Aragorn noticed it giving way to sorrow.

He could only tell, however, because his line of work said that learning how to read people was essential. She was obviously very well practiced at hiding her emotions, Aragorn thought with sadness, because even he was having a hard time being sure.

Now he knew that the phrase '_do you have any idea how devastated we were?'_ was really, _'do you have any idea how devastated _I _was?'_

Aragorn felt a rush of guilt at causing her unnecessary grief. "I'm sorry." He said sincerely. Arawin's hand went to her bracelet and she shrugged.

She was slightly worried that she'd just cursed like a dwarf miner in front of the heir to the throne of Gondor. Her temper had gotten the better of her common sense again, she thought ruefully. Aragorn, seeing her discomfort, smiled. "It's alright, Arawin. I do not enjoy the formalities that come with my position."

She nodded. "That's good. I was a slightly worried you were going to throw me off the balcony." She met eyes with Legolas."I suppose you need to go talk to the king now." She walked a few feet away, seeming to notice that the elf wanted to say something to Aragorn.

Aragorn caught the gleam of her bracelet as it caught the fading light and again the thought came that he had seen it before.

"You've met her?" Aragorn said. It wasn't really a question, more of a statement of fact.

Legolas nodded. "She's very intelligent. A good fighter. You _do _have a way of attracting unusual people, Estel." Legolas smiled and placed something in Aragorn's hand: the Evenstar pendant. A wave of relief and joy swept through him.

Finding no words to express his gratitude, he said simply to Legolas, "Hannon le."

_Thank you.  
_

* * *

_A/N It was kinda weird the beginning of this chapter was so hard to write and then I had the idea to write some in Aragorn's perspective and it was SO FUN! I love Aragorn so much so I really couldn't resist._

_If you see any issues or mistakes in my writing please tell me in a review!_


	8. Getting Through the Night

Aragorn picked up a battered sword, looked at it, and tossed it aside. Young boys and old men were being drafted into Rohan's small army. The king was making a desperate attempt to stand a chance against the Uruk-Hai, but unless anything short of a miracle took place, the outcome of the battle was looking bleak.

But they _would _win, he told himself firmly. Somehow they would. But still… "Farmers, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers." He said bitterly to no one in particular. He still seethed inwardly at Theoden's lack of hope, though Aragorn knew it was well founded.

"Most have seen too many winters." Gimli remarked, glancing at a weathered old man strapping on a breastplate.

"Or too few." Legolas said and his mouth twisted in distaste. "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes. _And they should be." _He switched to elvish suddenly, angrily.

"_Three hundred against ten thousand!" _The men around him fell silent. They may not be able to understand the words, but there was no mistaking his tone.

Aragorn closed his eyes briefly. The men's courage was small as it was. _"They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras." _He said shortly. He wished that Legolas would desist.

"_Aragorn, we are warriors. They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"_

"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn shouted, driven off the edge. Legolas glared at him, eyes narrowed.

Aragorn breathed deeply. The men had dropped all pretenses now and were staring openly. Fear flickered across some of the boys' faces.

He strode past the gaping men to a quiet spot, where he could compose himself. There was a small outcropping outside of the armory where he could calm down.

He sighed quietly. He hoped Legolas didn't come looking for him. He valued the elf's friendship, and he knew his own limits well enough to know that further talking with him would not help matters.

"He's not trying to anger you, you know."

Aragorn looked up quickly, his hand automatically going to his sword hilt. Arawin stood there, her eyes scanning him attentively. She walked over and sat down a few feet away from him.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Who isn't?" As if he didn't know perfectly well.

Arawin fiddled with her bracelet. "Legolas. He's just afraid. We all are. But I think mostly he's afraid for you."

"Why would he be?"

She smiled dryly. "Well, it was quite nerve-racking when you supposedly died, after all. But he cares about you, Aragorn. Most who meet you do."

He rubbed the back of his neck, marveling on how easily she could give out compliments. "How did you get to know Legolas so well?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I rode back with Legolas and Gimli and we talked a bit. We got to know each other relatively well. Aside from that, I've always been good at reading people."

Aragorn laughed in near amazement. Here was this girl, barely seventeen, talking casually about knowing the prince of the Woodland Elves. He noticed a sheath at her side.

"Planning something?"

Defiance flashed in the girl's eyes. "I'd like to see anyone try to stop me."

Aragorn put a hand on her wrist and looked at her, eyes intense. "I'm not questioning your bravery, Arawin, or your skill, but you have to understand, this will not be a fair fight. Few of us will come out alive."

She smiled tightly but didn't move her hand away. "I know. _They _know." She gestured out to where men where filing out of the armory. "But we keep fighting—we keep fighting because we have hope. And hope…"

She glanced out over the mountains. "Hope is the one thing that gets men through the night." She said softly, and Aragorn got the feeling that it was something a friend used to say.

_So young, _he thought sadly, _with so much loss. _They sat in silence for a few moments, each comforting the other with their presence. Soon, however, it was broken by a sound—a sound that Arawin didn't recognize.

Suddenly Aragorn knew what she meant by hope. It flared in his chest now as he looked out into the streets and saw gold and red.

The colors of the elves.

* * *

Arawin had used to want war.

She had been young then, and naive, thinking that war was what adults did, and that they got to fight and protect their families.

But that was not what war was. War was blood and death and grief and tears and fighting for your life, knowing that one wrong move, one false step would make it your last.

Inwardly she flinched as she thought of Mildred. They had parted on bad terms. Arawin had told her sister where she was going, and Mildred had stubbornly wanted to fight too. Arawin had refused the absurd request, telling her sister that she was too young.

They had argued fiercely, the disagreement ending with Mildred storming out, shouting to her older sister that she would find a way to fight. Arawin sincerely hoped that Mildred hadn't done something rash. _Please don't follow my example, _she prayed silently.

Jerked out of her daydreaming by Legolas, Arawin smiled briefly in thanks and turned her thoughts back towards the battle.

She looked around quickly. It was obvious now that even with the elves' help, Rohan was going to lose. Her confident words she had told Aragorn now seemed like weak comments.

They might have had hope, she thought, if the monsters were just on the ground and their archers could simply pick them off.

But these weren't mindless orcs. They knew what they were doing, and they had expected that strategy. Arawin watched through the too-big visor of her helmet as the orcs laid huge ladders and climbed them, slaughtering the elves and humans.

Instead of backing away, she moved up to the front of the line and did her best to fight them off, but her instincts told her that they would soon be overrun by the sheer weight of numbers. She kept her concentration on her opponents, but her heart was breaking. This country she had lived in was falling apart, piece by piece as men died.

The elves couldn't do much with their bows in close quarters, and more were collapsing every minute. Legolas, standing a few feet away from her, had two long knives on him, but his fellows only had a small dagger, if they had one at all.

If only they could get rid of those ladders…

Something tingled in the back of her skull. This was the moment, she knew, that counted. This was why she was here. They needed to get rid of the ladders.

She must have spoken the last thought aloud, because Legolas looked over at her. "Yes," he called over the sounds of the battle, and most of the sentence was drawn out. "—how?"

Arawin's mind raced. The ladders were too heavy to push now, with all the orcs crawling up them. However, if they were suddenly pushed off, or fell, it might be enough for Legolas and Gimli to push the ladders over.

She glanced down at her sword. Her pulse quickened. Her heart had figured out what she had to do before her head did.

She looked around and to her surprise and grief; she saw that she was one of the last humans standing. There was no one else for the job, she realized. It had to be her.

"I'll get these orcs out of the way. When I've cleared the field, you and Gimli push the ladders over. Understand?"

Legolas stared. "I can't let you—"

"I didn't ask if you would let me." Arawin ducked out of the way of a stray arrow. "I asked if you would help me."

"But—"

"Legolas, do you trust me?"

"I…"

Arawin looked hard at the elf, fighting off the bubbling fear in her heart. If he pushed her too much, she would break. It was hard, after all, fighting a battle that no one else could, and knowing that it would doubtless be her death.

Legolas hesitated, but when he met the eyes of the girl in front of him, he saw a steeliness and courage that he, in all his long life, had only seen once before in the eyes of a human. She was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

He inhaled deeply. "I do now." He said finally.

Arawin gave him a small, sad smile, vaulted over the balcony, and into a new battle.

She grabbed on to one of the ladder handles, and with one hand drew her blade. Her other arm maintained a death grip on the handle and only wobbled slightly on her feet. She'd always been good at balancing.

She slashed the flat of her blade across one orc's skull, who was so surprised that he didn't even make a move to hit her back. The Uruk-Hai fell, and since she had positioned the blow correctly, he fell backwards, straight into his comrades. They tumbled off the ladder like huge, extremely ugly dominoes.

Arawin, her heart racing, scrambled up the ladder like a monkey. Gimli pushed the ladder over while Legolas put an arrow through any who tried to stop the dwarf.

She took several deep breaths so she could keep a clear head, and prepared to repeat the process.

Every time she vaulted over the balcony to hit another ladder, she could almost see her death rushing up to meet her. She survived time after time, but then but on the third to last ladder, something went wrong.

By now, all the orcs were ready for her. She prepared to do as she'd done before: fight the orc closest to the top and push him down the ladder.

But this monster was ready at the top of the balcony. He looked to be a general, for he was stronger, fitter, and uglier than the others she had faced. His mouth twisted into a mocking smirk when Arawin drew her sword.

"Why, it's just a girl."

Arawin froze for a split second, that phrase borrowing into her memories, pulling up scenes she'd long forgotten.

She's just a girl.

"_Don't let her play with us. She's just a girl, she'll make us lose." She turns away, hot tears burning in her mind, but she won't let them fall, she won't-_

She's just a girl.

_Hard rock rushing up to meet her, the taste of dirt in her mouth and the feeling of warm blood on her face. Soft words, kindly meant; "It's all right, Arawin. You're just a girl, after all." _

Just a girl.

"_You're not meant for this, my sweet." Her father's work-hardened face, dismissing her from he and Edward's presence. "You're just a girl." _

And in that half-second, all her fear and shame and insecurity came rushing up to meet her, and her mind screamed _what are you doing? You can't do this! _

All this happened in an instant, and a moment later she'd mostly recovered herself. But that instant was enough. The orc hit her legs out from under her with his broadsword and she fell, her sword clattering to the ground.

She hit the back of her head on the stones and the world blurred. Arawin could see her enemy standing over her, his huge sword in his grasp.

But something was wrong, the tip wasn't pointing towards her, and the butt of the hilt was getting closer and then her vision went red and—

And then it was black, and she could see nothing at all.

* * *

Two hours earlier, when the battle had just barely begun, a small girl of about eight snuck out of the caves where the women and children lay, a tiny dagger clutched in her fist. Her older sister would be furious, but if Arawin could do it, then why couldn't Mildred?

Her delusion of safety was shattered soon enough, and when the battle was over, Eowyn found a doll made out of cornstalks... without the owner. She shed tears, thinking that another innocent life had been lost.

Hundreds of kilometers away, Arawin daughter of Arahael woke in a black tower.

* * *

_A/N The plot thickens… Thank you so much to those who followed and favorited, and especially those who reviewed. We're getting into the real action now, and I'm really excited for the next few chapters._

_Please review! I read every single one of them and they mean a lot to me. Shout out to those who did:_


	9. The Black Tower

Arawin groaned and sat up. Her head ached. _I really need to stop getting knocked out, _she thought absently. She glanced around, trying to piece together the correlation between her surroundings and what had happened.

What _had _happened?

Her brain supplied a flood of memories. She groaned again, but this time for a different reason. She could've beaten that oaf quickly if she hadn't reacted to a petty insult. _Stupid, stupid, stupid… _she scolded herself fiercely.

What she couldn't figure out was why the orc hadn't killed her. She was sure he would have had plenty of time to do so. Instead he had captured her and taken her to here… wherever here was.

She looked around again and tried to rub her bracelet, until she realized that she couldn't move them. They were chained with black metal to the floor of her prison room.

Actually, it wasn't even a room, not really. She was on the highest balcony of a huge tower that looked to be at least four thousand feet tall. The edges were surrounded by black spikes that arched over her head, like a hand that was about to clamp on to her.

Far, far below her were pits that surrounded the tower that were glowing with fires. She assumed they would ordinarily be filled with workers. Behind her was a great forest that stretched as far as she could see. All in all, these observations didn't greatly help her get her bearings.

A few more hours passed. Not much happened. Arawin assumed that it was about four in the afternoon when she heard a lock clicking and a door opening. She turned around quickly and saw a trapdoor opening that she hadn't noticed before because it was the same shade of black as the marble balcony was.

Emerging from the trapdoor was a man coming up the stairs. She started in surprise. She'd assumed that when someone finally checked up on her, it would be an orc, due to the fact that it was an orc who'd captured her. Instead there was this man, who might have even been a Rohirrim but for the aura of malice around him.

She quickly hid her shock, keeping her face a cool mask. She looked him over, analyzing his appearance.

The man had grimy, stringy hair down to his shoulder that looked like it hadn't been cut in years. He had a bad slouch and his lips were chapped, suggesting that he licked them as a nervous habit. His eyes were too close together and darted around.

All in all, Arawin thought, he didn't seem the type of man a person would want to be best friends with. "Who are you?" She asked brusquely. He looked at her almost hungrily but didn't respond. He walked over to her and drew another key out of his pocket. He unlocked the chains grappling her to the balcony floor, but kept her handcuffs on her wrist.

He led her down the stairs, holding her in such a way that he couldn't move her rams to try to escape. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't how she was planning to escape. "Where are you taking me?" Arawin demanded. Again, he didn't respond. "No need to yell," she muttered.

She went to rub her bracelet, and to her surprise, it was still there. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Wouldn't anyone want a mithril bracelet? her captor was getting stranger by the minute.

Arawin bit her lip and steeled her courage. She kept her body language lax and nonthreatening, and then suddenly, she snapped her head back, slamming it into the man's nose.

Luckily, he was short and Arawin had always been tall for her age, so the back of her skull whipped into his nose with all the kinetic energy she could muster. He howled and she heard the nasty crunching noise that told her she had hit her mark.

Tears streamed into his eyes, clouding his vision, and Arawin twisted her arms and spun him around, sending him flying in a circle and down the flight of stairs that he had been escorting her down. Arawin didn't give herself any time to celebrate, knowing that she was in enemy territory and had no time to waste.

She launched herself off the edge of the flight of stairs, turned the impact into a roll, and came up standing.

Her unfortunate victim was still on the floor, rocking and moaning. Arawin spared him a disdainful glance and then sprinted down the next flight of stairs…

…and right into the waiting arms of an orc, who was grinning at her gruesomely. She hesitated. She was no match for an orc's brute strength, she knew. Without her sword, she would be easy prey. At a loss, she shouted, "Your mother was an elf!"

She herself would take that as a compliment, but she figured the orc wouldn't appreciate it. The Uruk-Hai bellowed and charged. Arawin easily sidestepped, and orc ran into empty space. He seemed to be having difficulty turning around.

_Never fight when you're angry, _an echo of her father's voice giving Edward lessons came to her mind. _It makes your moves clumsy and uncivilized. _

The orc turned, glaring at her with a surprising amount of hatred. Arawin wondered if orcs were more sensitive about their mothers than she had anticipated. She grabbed his hand and used his momentum to twist, flipping him over.

Normally she would have never gotten that far, but the orc's rage had clouded his thinking. Arawin made it down another flight of stairs, saw a door, and had almost made it when an invisible force yanked her back like a puppet on a string.

She was pulled up three levels and back to the floor under the balcony. "What in Thorin's name—"Arawin had no idea who Thorin was, but she had heard Gimli say it once and liked it, so now it was her new favorite curse.

She looked around wildly for the cause of what had somehow happened. The man with the recent broken nose was still struggling to rise, so it couldn't have been him.

"Bravo, my girl."

Arawin whirled around. Out of the shadows stepped an old man in a long, white cloak. At least it looked white on first inspection, but when she looked closer, she realized that it shimmered with so many colors that it looked white at first glance.

His face was extremely pale and he had straight white hair down to his shoulders. He had a staff with an orb on top of it. His eyes were not white, however, unlike the rest of him. They were black and unfeeling. Goosebumps up Arawin's back made her shiver slightly.

This was not a man to be trusted.

"That was impressive." He said lightly. "You nearly got out—_nearly_." He smiled warmly at her, like some sort of grandfather congratulating a child. Arawin recoiled slightly.

"Though, to be fair, breaking Wormtongue's nose isn't much of an accomplishment." He glanced at Wormtongue with obvious distaste.

Finally finding her voice, Arawin asked, "Who _are _you?"

A flash of anger flitted across his serene face, breaking his facade, and then it was gone, like a brush of wind on a sunny day. "I am Saruman, Saruman of Many Colors, and you are here to learn the truth of who you are."

Arawin barely heard the last part. She was already reeling after the first sentence.

"You're Saruman the White. This is Isengard." If this was the Tower of Orthanc, then they were only a few miles from her hometown. That meant…

There it was again—the flash of fury, quickly stifled. Arawin quickly brought her mind back to the problem at hand. Saruman started speaking, "Not anymore, luckily. You see, white can be easily changed to something more—something better. _White_ is a starting point, the basis of all colors. This is what I have come to tell you. It is time for you to know your true colors."

Arawin stared at him. Maybe Saruman wasn't as cunning as the stories said, she thought. He sounded a bit insane. "What are you talking about?"

Saruman didn't seem to be done yet. "And 'White' isn't my title anymore. Oh no, that grey fool has taken it. Gandalf the White…" His words had dissolved into mutterings, and he glanced up at her carefully, as if seeing if there was any recognition to the name.

There was none. "You haven't heard of him?" Arawin shook her head quickly, though that wasn't completely true. The name Gandalf had pricked a recollection in her memory, but she wasn't entirely sure where she had heard it before.

"So he doesn't know… Of course he doesn't. He surrounds himself with important beings, he would have no idea about the girl, because who would ever—"

"_I'm_ sorry." Arawin was losing her patience. "What is all this you're hinting about? What's so important about me? Why did you capture and not kill me? What am I _doing_ here?"

He looked at her full on. "You are more important than you could ever know, Arawin. You are the child of a dead line. Tell me, do you know who your parents are?"

_Dead line? _"My…my parents were Morwen and Abelard of Westfold—"

"Not _them!" _Saruman waved the names away contemptuously. "Farmers, horsemen, common folk—no. Do you know who your _real_ parents are?"

Arawin stiffened. She'd told Legolas who she was the daughter of in reality, but she didn't feel exactly comfortable telling this man. So far, all his appearances were of a kind, paternal figure—but all of her instincts screamed at her to not trust him.

His eyes scanned her quickly, seeing her hesitation. "You know." It wasn't a question.

Arawin swallowed. "I was adopted, so my mother's name was Arahael, but…"

"Yes! That woman…she is the center of it all, isn't she?"

"All of _what?" _Arawin was starting to get a sneaking suspicion of what he was talking about. Somehow in the back of her mind she knew. A dead line… the only dead line she knew of was… but no, that couldn't be, that was _impossible._

Saruman met his cold black eyes with Arawin's dark brown "You, Arawin, daughter of Arahael, are the last living descendant of Isildur on Middle Earth."

* * *

_A/N so, anyone surprised? No one? Maybe there is such a thing as too much foreshadowing. Please review! For those who are confused on how Saruman found out and the logistics, don't worry! All will be explained in later chapter. Honestly, I didn't feel to good about this chapter quality wise, so if you have any suggestions, please tell me in a review!_

_(Yes, I'm going to beg for a review every chapter)_


	10. In Which The Plot Thickens

Arawin stumbled backwards like she'd been shocked. "You… I can't… I'm not—"

"You most certainly are."

Arawin shook her head a little, trying to drive out the notion. There was no way, she was just a girl from a little village, and she wasn't anyone important.

But the logical part of her mind disagreed. It made sense, somehow. Her dark hair and un-Rohirrim complexion had always been a mystery, but no one had offered a satisfying explanation until now. Her unusual name now made sense, and she had heard Gimli and Legolas discussing her and Aragorn's similarities, which she'd taken as a compliment then, but now, perhaps it was something more.

Speaking of Aragorn... well, Saruman was wrong on one point. Even if she was descended from Isildur (which she still refused to accept) she wasn't the only relative. This meant that Saruman had no idea about Aragorn.

This, still, meant that she wasn't half as important as Aragorn (but she was _not _descended from Isildur, this was all hypothetical), her being a girl, and not even of age yet.

"How would you know? No one has any memories of my mother." Arawin challenged.

Saruman gave her a winning smile that didn't look right on his face, like it knew it wasn't supposed to be there. "That is a very good question, Arawin. I'm sure you're aware of the history of Queen Firiel?"

Arawin nodded mutely, eyes widening. Suddenly everything connected, …_Firiel was pregnant with another child at the time of her exile. _

"She was pregnant when she was exiled." Arawin accidentally spoke out loud. Saruman nodded briefly.

"And that child was your mother's fifteen time grandmother. The line continued down to the girl who is standing before me, though it did not come to my attention until recently. They were quite careful in keeping their identities secret.

"Hold on," she said. "Firiel was exiled nearly two thousand years ago. Even if it was fifteen generations, the fifteenth would be long dead by now."

Saruman pursed his lips, like he was barely containing his anger at Arawin interrupting him. She was happy to keep doing it, if it annoyed him.

"The descendants of Numenor are blessed with long life. Your mother was likely in her early nineties when she gave birth to you."

Arawin leaned away from Saruman, one finger on her bracelet. "How do you know all this?" She demanded.

"Interesting question," said the wizard with a smile that seemed unnatural yet again. "Well, you see, Arahael told all of this to her husband, in a small hut in an even smaller village. She'd never told anyone, following the examples of her forefathers, because she believed it would put her in mortal danger. She knew that she was the only one of her line, and knew that her life and her descendants' lives had to be treated with care.

"In her interest in him, it would appear that she forgot to check if anyone was still in there. My current assistant, Wormtongue, heard it all. Arahael didn't know, of course."

Suddenly something in Arawin snapped. She was so _tired _of this. She was tired of an actual wizard making her believe that she was descended from kings, tired of, well... everything. She had been trying to hold on, to speak civilly, but this casual mention of her dead mother made her anger overflow.

"Don't speak her name."

"I'm sorry?"

She could hear him trying to turn her to his side, to the side that killed innocent children and villages just because they were there. "Don't talk about her, you lying, slimy, smooth-talking piece of filth!"

Saruman actually stepped back a pace.

"I can see what you're doing, Saruman _the White. _You have no right to talk about my parents, you—you _murderer!"_

The wizard seemed to recover himself. "I assure you—"

"You're responsible for the attack on Helm's Deep and my village! _You_ sent the orcs!" It was so satisfying to finally blame it on someone. She'd been waiting for this opportunity, storing up all her anger and grief and sorrow into one ball of emotion to throw on someone.

"You don't understand, Arawin, I—"

He was desperately trying to get back control of the situation, she saw. Arawin modulated her voice to a low hiss, "Don't lie. It doesn't work on me anymore, whatever you were doing."

And he knew it. She saw it in his eyes that his plan had failed. She took grim satisfaction in the fact that she had been able to finally, _finally _vent some of her anger at him.

"You can drop the act, _my lord."_ Arawin spat. "You're in league with that Black Lord in the East, so you can stop all this talk about oh so sad coincidences. You probably helped to organize it. You're an evil, lying, uncaring—"

Arawin suddenly found herself unable to talk. She moved her jaw. Her lips had been forced together and her eyes widened. Saruman's staff was pointed straight at her. His face was contorted with anger; the mask was gone.

"Don't speak to me, girl. Don't you dare speak another word, or I promise that it will not end well for you."

Her face flushed and her temper soared as she managed to force her lips open. "I thought I was the heir to the throne, not just a _girl. _I'm sorry; I should be more polite to my kidnapper."

"You're able to draw breath thanks to me, you insolent—"

"So you could have to pleasure of killing me later, I'm sure!"

At some point during the confrontation, she'd been lifted into the air. Now Saruman lowered his staff and she crumpled to the floor. She rose up to her knees, fists clenched, eyes blazing. The wizard started speaking again, and now there were no sweet tones left in his voice.

_Good, _she thought. _Now he'll know that I won't be controlled._

"I'll continue, Arawin, because for you to believe me is an essential part of my plan for you." He said icily. "As I was saying, the orcs laid waste on the village."

She glared at the wizard._ Maybe it was _his_ orcs_, she thought, _but I'm sure you had a hand in it._

Saruman glanced at her, eyes cold, but didn't falter in his story. "They were captured as slaves, I'm afraid. Wormtongue was nearly one of them, but when the orcs stopped at my tower, he gave me some valuable information… information about _you._

"He told me what he'd heard and that Arahael had a child, but he hadn't seen the girl or boy on the cart that they'd been taken in. He also told me about that remarkable bracelet you have on your hand."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she automatically covered her wrist with her fingers. Raising an eyebrow slightly, he continued. "Naturally I looked for your mother, but she had already gone into Sauron's domain, and once someone goes in there, there is no going back."

Arawin shivered inwardly at the mention of the dark lord's true name, but didn't let it show. "What happened to her?" She demanded fiercely, the weight in her stomach telling her what she didn't want to hear.

"Your mother? I imagine she died soon after she began working. A slave's life isn't pleasant, but necessary for the greater good of Middle Earth." Saruman said it so coolly, dismissing a being's life in two short sentences. Arawin was so disgusted and utterly horrified by the man standing in front of her that words failed her.

"The greater good—!"Her cheeks paled and she and couldn't finish the sentence.

"After that, I took Grima Wormtongue on as my assistant and looked for you as well, but you were gone from the village, and I couldn't very well look into every village in Rohan, for I had a reputation to uphold.

"So I watched, and waited, because I knew that someone as important as a descendant of Isildur could not stay hidden for long, and soon enough, a few years ago, a man named Abelard came into one of my patroller's grasp. He gave up information on you faster than anticipated, but still, to my great annoyance, strategy insisted upon me making my move later."

Arawin didn't know that she'd sunk to the floor until her hands touched cold marble. Her father, her brave, wonderful father, had been tortured for information on… on _her. _Had her mother known? Of course she couldn't have, but her father had been killed by an orc, and not just killed-she now knew that in this cruel world, a quick death was a mercy-but t ortured.

Saruman was looking down at her with something like triumph in his eyes. He knew. That galled Arawin enough give her the strength to stand and look him in the eyes, making sure he knew that she wouldn't submit.

"When the time came, your village was sadly easy to take, but to my sadness, you had run away with someone else. I told my orcs to look for you, but again you escaped, quite cleverly, I admit. But I knew it was you because you used your bracelet to ensure that you had the time you needed.

"You were cropping up very frequently, I'm afraid. If you were so averse to being taken here, you should have guarded yourself more. A few days ago one of my followers told me about a girl who had prowess with the sword who, coincidentally, also had a mithril bracelet. Really, when the Uruk-Hai marched on Helm's Deep, it was easy to tell my soldiers to look for a girl who would inevitably fight for what she believed was her people, and when she fell, to capture, not kill."

Arawin closed her eyes. She had to accept it. It made sense. Not only that, but the truth reverberated in her bones, in her heart. The only question that remained now was what Saruman's plans were for her. He wouldn't just keep her here, oh no. If someone existed who could possibly unite the two kingdoms and rally the men of middle earth, they would have to be eliminated.

Now she understood how crucial it was that Aragorn had told her who he was, what a risk he'd taken just to satisfy her curiosity. She couldn't believe he'd trusted her enough to tell her, a teenager who he had only just met.

He had seen something in her, something no one else had seen, and as a result, he had told her. Arawin looked back on the person she had once been like that Arawin was five years younger than her present self, even though that meeting had been barely days ago.

She almost wished that he hadn't told her, because what if she did slip up and they enemy learned who he was? Arawin could never live with herself again.

They shared that secret, now. Aragorn had trusted her enough to reveal who he was, knowing that she wouldn't betray him. And she wouldn't. She was determined not to betray that trust.

But Arawin couldn't see any way out of the situation she was now in. She was captured by a wizard, for Eorl's sake. What was she supposed to do against _that? _

Nothing. She couldn't do anything. For once in her life, she could not do anything. Arawin had never realized how important her freedom was until it was gone. How horrible was it, she reflected, that the things that matter most in the world are never noticed until you don't have them anymore?

Saruman began speaking again. "Do you believe me now, Arawin?"

_Yes. _"Shouldn't you address me as Your Highness?" She tilted her chin up a little. The least she could do was to make this wizard's life a living torture as long as she was alive.

If Saruman was annoyed, he didn't show it. He actually laughed, but not out of humor. It was cold, and what she imagined an vulture felt right before it swooped on its prey. "You haven't been crowned yet, girl. Don't worry on that front, however."

Arawin's eyes blazed. "You keep hinting at something. Speak plainly, please."

"Of course." Saruman said evenly. "You see, Gondor has been quite an annoyance for the Dark Lord and I. I thought that if there was someone who could become their ruler and, perhaps, order them to stand down, well… that would be a good situation for all of us, do you not think so?"

Arawin knew immediately what he was hinting at. "So you would like me to pose as Queen and tell them to not do a thing."

The wizard seemed delighted that she'd picked it up quickly. "Exactly, my dear. You could sit on a throne and finally do something important. You would keep the people out of harm's way, because surely they would go to their deaths if they tried to… resist the upcoming changes to Middle Earth."

"And you believe they are going to listen to a seventeen year old child."

"I believe they will listen to a seventeen year old child with the Galadestel and the locket of Isildur. The people of Gondor will not have a choice. Those items have been spoken of for generations."

"What's the Galadestel?" Arawin asked, wishing she could see a way out of this.

"The sword of Isildur." Saruman said. "No, not the broken sword on that locket of yours. Many don't care for the distinction, but Narsil, the blade the cut the One Ring off Sauron's finger, was Elendil's sword. Galad-estel was the true sword of Isildur."

"Do you have it?" She asked. "That seems like a rare piece to have."

"Unfortunately, I do not have it. But I've seen it before and have a rather convincing copy. You'll receive it when you sit on the throne of Minas Tirith."

"What if I don't want to become Queen?" Arawin dared to ask, because she didn't. At first when he'd mentioned it, she'd thought about sitting on a throne and doing whatever she wanted. But strangely, that prospect did not sound inviting to her at all. She would have liked to work at the palace, maybe even just _a_ palace, but ruling a country sounded exhausting.

And she could see what Saruman was getting at. Gondor was fighting back against his rule, and he wanted them neutralized, at least until he sent an army to destroy them, and Arawin along with them.

The wizard glowered at her. "I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, girl."

"Meaning you'll kill me."

He shrugged a little. "Well, I would not have much of a use for you if you turned down my generous offer. You would be a waste of space, I believe the expression is. You understand, I'm sure."

Arawin didn't hesitate to say her next words. "Then I'm afraid you will have to go ahead and kill me, my lord, because I'm not going to lead the people of Gondor to their doom out of my free will."

A twisted smile spread of Saruman's face. "I was afraid you'd say that." He turned around, opening the doors to the lower level open with a wave of his hand. "Come with me, and I'm sure you will be persuaded before you know it."

* * *

_A/N Since I'm stuck inside, I decided to rewatch Lord of the Rings for, uh, research purposes. Yep. _

_I was having SEVERE writer's block with this chapter, mostly because I already knew all of this in my head so I couldn't think of specific words to get it all down._

_If you're confused with anything regarding the whole explanation thing, please tell me in a review! Or, you know, just review, even if you're not confused!_


	11. Cunning Mind, Dark Soul

Arawin was really starting to hate wizards. Or, at least, just the one who kidnapped her.

"I believe you have a sister?" Saruman asked casually—too casually. Arawin was instantly on her guard.

"And if I do?" She said slowly.

"Oh, let's just say that this has been an extraordinarily eventful day for her as well. Correct me if I'm wrong, but to my knowledge, she snuck out of the caves before that battle started? I'm sure she wanted to be just like her sister. After that… well, I'll show you, if you like."

Arawin's hand brushed her bracelet and she watched in trepidation as Saruman muttered a few words under his breath and waved his hands in intricate patterns. At first Arawin thought he was cursing at her and was preparing a few words of her own, when suddenly a shimmering image appeared in the empty space before her.

A sudden coldness hit the core of her stomach as she took in the scene in front of her. It was Mildred, but… it did not look like the Mildred who Arawin had seen last. She took in the image quickly, eyes darting across it. It looked like her sister was in a dark prison with a group of orcs watching her almost… hungrily.

Arawin's muscles stiffened. She longed to run, to throw her fist at Saruman, to throw herself off the highest balcony, to do _something, _but she couldn't bring herself to move. She stared in horrified interest as she registered Mildred's appearance.

Her long gold hair was now cut unevenly short, with strands of hair much longer than others. It was almost like someone had taken a hacking saw to her hair. Her clothes were dirty and torn, and she barely had any shoes at all.

But Arawin's mind was mainly latching on to these small characteristics to avoid thinking about the look on her baby sister's face.

Gone was the excited, mischievous look that she usually had, and the faraway smile had disappeared, perhaps never to be seen again. The light in her eyes had been put out.

Mildred turned around, huddling in the corner of her cell, her face pressed against the wall to avoid looking at the sneering orcs who guarded her. In her hands was the small doll that Edward had made for her.

Arawin refused to stumble backwards, refused to crumple to the ground and sob for her sweet, caring little sister, who'd been forced into this mess because her sibling was related to a bunch of dusty _kings._

It was Arawin's fault, all her fault, but Saruman was watching her with an ugly, satisfied little smile on his face, so she locked her feelings to the back of her mind and refused to show weakness.

"What have you done with my sister?" Arawin said in a low, haunted voice.

"Oh, nothing," said Saruman innocently. "She is quite well cared for. Mordor isn't the most pleasant of places, of course, but she's in good hands. However, I'm afraid to say, her position is extremely shaky, because her face depends on _your _acts, Arawin. If you were to, say, continue to defy me, I'm afraid that my communication with her supervisors would be undermined, and I would be unable to remind them to not—how do I say this—ah, eat your sister alive. Do we understand each other, my girl?"

Arawin felt a bit like she was being slowly torn apart, piece by piece. Oh, she understood him, all right. 'Do what I say or your sister dies.'

She couldn't… she couldn't do _anything_. It was the sort of situation that she would have nightmares about. She couldn't win. Oh, Mildred…

"You have to swear to me you'll set her free." She said faintly.

"Why, of course. If I—"

"_Swear it."_

Saruman nodded courteously, his smile flickering only slightly. "I swear."

Arawin took a shaky breath and tried to swallow. She tried to speak and found she couldn't. It was like her mind knew she was betraying everything she'd ever stood for, ever fought for, and refused to let her speak.

She touched a finger to her bracelet and nodded.

"Excellent!" Saruman seemed delighted. He waved a hand towards the image of Mildred and it fell away.

Arawin's mind was working quickly, trying to figure out something to do. She could work something out when she got to Minas Tirith, she told herself desperately. Saruman wouldn't be allowed there, so he couldn't stop her.

She would tell the Steward there who she was and step down. Surely Saruman couldn't stop her from doing that. And he wouldn't know until later, so he couldn't hurt Mildred, could he? At least she hoped not.

Her fevered brain clung on to that piece of hope like a drowning man to a lifeboat. She _would _find a way out of this. But something inside her had a terrible feeling that Saruman knew what she was going to try to do… worse, what if he was _planning_ on it?

"Well, that is settled." Saruman said, a glint in his eyes that made Arawin's blood run cold. "We only have a few more items of business to take care of."

She opened her mouth to question what exactly could be left, when suddenly, Saruman raised his staff and pointed at her.

He began to chant furiously in a dark language. Arawin had never heard it before but just the sound of the words made her shiver.

"_Su tholl agh marr-ora ta piny ia. Tab gujan gri earnad turu. Su tholl agh marro-ora ta piny ia. Tab gujan gri earnad turu. Polt ob pesh fermentack ishi zogtark fiel. Ulu are shara nho wak te mos ob te ud." _He repeated the words, gradually getting louder and louder until his voice seemed to be almost bouncing off the walls.

He lowered his staff abruptly and watched her through narrowed eyes. For a moment it seemed as if nothing had happened, until all at once, she gasped and stumbled backwards.

She felt suddenly as if a pain had entered her, so deep and hard that it had gone into her very soul. She gasped and fell back against the floor.

Something swept through her, rushing through her veins and blood and past her heart. She moaned softly and struggled to stand, bracing her arms to help lift her.

Her left arm shuddered under her weight and fell limp, causing her to hit the black marble again. She looked at her arm and to her fear, she saw an ugly, blistering red mark on her forearm, almost resembling an… an eye.

"What have you…" Arawin choked on her words and tried again. "What have you done to me?"

Saruman smiled at her again, that infernal, self-satisfied smile that Arawin loathed. He twitched his hand a little and she fought for breath as another spasm of anguish swept through her.

"Ah, well, you see, I can't have you sneaking off when you get to Minas Tirith and telling the Steward everything. That would be disappointing for all concerned, do you not think so? This spell," He flicked his fingers again, causing her to gasp and clutch her heart.

She felt her body shudder, but somehow she felt as if the pain went deeper than her skin… almost like it was in her _soul._

"It causes a magic-born disease that I have power over. I can give you a little pain, but I also have the power to turn it into a fatal illness. One quick snap…" he brushed his thumb and forefinger together. "And you will be dispatched from the land of the living, and none too painlessly, I can freely admit. It is a slow process, giving you about sixty minutes of suffering, and then you will be gone."

So tell me Arawin, daughter of Arahael…"

His voice had suddenly taken on a rock-hard edge. Gone was the falsely-cheerful, sing-song voice. This was real, and he wanted to let Arawin know that he would not hesitate when the time came.

"Do you want that? For the moment word comes to me that you have betrayed your promise—and oh yes, I will know—you will be lying dead on the floor before anyone can save you. Do you understand?"

He jerked his hand violently and Arawin felt a scorching fire of agony sweep through her, splintering and breaking to puncture all areas of her body. _"Do you understand?" _

Arawin nodded, her skin quaking, her soul shuddering. "Yes." She breathed out.

Saruman nodded, his face twisting into a malicious smile. He had the look of a man who knew he was causing pain to another being and enjoyed it. "Good. Just a little more to help the message sink in…"

He raised one finger and Arawin's screams echoed through the levels of the tower.

* * *

_A/N And on that cheery note, it's time to be over. Thanks to the one person who reviewed. Guess what? It's the three month anniversary of this story!_

_Seriously guys, I'm starving for feedback right now. I would appreciate it more than I can express if you guys just dropped in a few words, because I really want to improve my writing._


	12. The Time That is Given Us

_A/N: Clearing up some things from previous chapters._

_Some people in the reviews have asked at what date Helm's Deep happened and what date Arawin woke up in that fun black tower. So, technically the battle of Helm's Deep happened on March 3rd, TA 3019, and the Ents storming Orthanc happened on March 2nd, but for this story that wouldn't work for obvious reasons._

_So here is my slight alteration to the date: the Battle of Helm's Deep happened on March 3rd, and the Siege of Isengard will happen on March 5th. Arawin woke up on March 4th. Sorry for the note at the beginning of the story._

* * *

_Mildred_

Mildred wasn't completely sure how she felt about the dagger in her right hand. She gave a few experimental slashes in one direction. It slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground.

She looked around nervously, hoping that no one had heard her. She was pretty sure that no one had seen her sneak out of the caves, but she supposed that she could never be sure.

The woman taking care of her was nice enough, but Lady Eowyn kept looking wistfully up at the exit and was easily distracted. Mildred was still fuming at the argument she'd had with her sister earlier in the day.

Arawin was acting like Mildred was of no use to anyone! Mildred scowled. She would show her, she thought. She would go out into the battle and show Arawin her amazing fighting skills, and then no one would call her young again.

She was eight years old, after all, and Mildred thought it was about time she got taken seriously. And if her sister could do it, then why couldn't Mildred?

She saw the light up ahead and moved cautiously outside. The sight that greeted her made Mildred doubt her plans a little. Quelling down the burst of fear, Mildred moved forward. She could do this.

She ran towards the closest target: the fringes of the battlefield. It looked like the main war was being fought up on the big balconies. Mildred felt a little stab of worry. She hoped Eddy and Arawin were all right.

She put her pointer finger on the flat of the knife, like she'd seen Mummy do when she was cutting vegetables.

When she met the orcs, she discovered that fighting was a lot harder than people made it look. She made the mistake of looking up, and what she saw nearly made her shriek. That face was so ugly! Of course she'd seen orcs before, but this one was almost worst.

The orc turned around when he heard her and growled, charging. Mildred tried to run to the right but she tripped on a rock and fell over. The useless dagger fell out of her hand with a clatter.

The orc looked down at her with a grin on his face. "Playing with daddy's sword, are we?" He crooned. Mildred started to cry. This wasn't how things were supposed to go!

The orc raised his sword and she screwed her eyes shut, but the blow she was waiting for didn't come.

"Wait, you fool!" A voice came. Mildred saw a new orc, just as disgusting as the other, but this one seemed to be in charge.

"The White One said to check with all the little female spawn of the humans to see if they had anything to do with the girl he's looking for."

Mildred didn't really understand what was happening, but she figured that it was a good thing, since she wasn't dead yet. "My sister's going to kill you." She said, her voice quavering a little when they both looked at her.

"Do you have a sister, girl?" The one in charge said in a falsely sweet voice.

"Um… yes. She's the best sword fighter in the whole country."

"Does she happen to have a nice little bracelet?"

By this time, most of the army had moved on. Only these two were left. Mildred wondered why they were asking about jewelry, but if they didn't kill her, she was willing to answer some strange questions.

"Yes. It's silver." She added, just in case they needed more details.

The two looked at each other. She questioned why she had the feeling that she'd just confirmed something.

"We're to take the girl to him?" The first orc asked.

"No. He said to Mordor."

"Why Mordor? Our fellows there are imbeciles!"

"Because he said so! Shut up. He also told me—this was specific to me, mind you—that if we find her, we're to make immediately there, and not to finish destroying the Rohan scum. We're to get there in a day and a half at the latest."

The other scowled, considering. "Will he give me man-flesh to make up for it?"

"I'd get more than you. Oh, and he wants the girl alive."

The first scowled even more deeply, if that was possible. "Then I suppose we had better get moving."

"Where are you going?" Mildred asked. This was a strange conversation. If they were going to kill her, they may as well get on with it. The rocks were digging into her backside, which was extremely uncomfortable.

The captain leered at her. "We're going on a trip, girl. You'll need your rest for it."

Mildred saw a hand coming closer and then it hit and she saw stars. And then she didn't see anything at all.

* * *

_Arawin_

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In, out._

Arawin focused on her breathing to slow her heart rate down. The agony had receded for the most part, but she could still feel it there, waiting until the next time it could return in full force.

_In, out._

_In, out._

How had she come to this? She had never wanted anything more than living a life with some meaning. And now here she was, lying on the second to highest level in a tower being tortured by a wizard in league with Sauron. The whole thing would have been so ridiculous to Arawin of Westfold that she nearly laughed.

Instead it came out as more of a dry sob.

"Get up." Saruman's voice came from above her, as cold and brittle as winter night. "I said, _get up." _Arawin rose slowly, tossing her dark hair aside with a jerk of her head.

Her fingers found the eye-shaped mark on her arm and she winced a little. Still, she did her best to keep her eye contact with the wizard.

_I'm not broken, _she thought defiantly, _and you cannot make me be so. _Somehow in her mind she found that hard to believe.

"My colleague wishes to speak with you." Saruman said evenly. Arawin felt a bolt of fear hit her. His colleague? That had to mean Sauron, the Dark Lord, for who else would he be speaking of? She wasn't ready for that. What if he questioned her about Aragorn?

What even was the point if he did? Another part of her asked. She was already in so much pain… she didn't want anymore. Maybe she should just give up…

_No! _Her heart fought back she would not give in! That was what Saruman would love her to do, bowing her head at his feet like a broken horse. She _would _keep fighting. She would keep going until the very darkest hour, when she could not fight anymore.

An old saying came back to her: the darkest hour is just before dawn. But would there be any dawn in this night? How could there be?

"Get going." Saruman said roughly, jerking Arawin out of her bleak thoughts. "It is not wise to keep the Dark Lord waiting."

"Where?" She asked, hoping that the word would come out determined and brave. Instead, she was sure it came out as more of an exhausted exhale.

"Down there." Saruman inclined his head to the nearest staircase. "You will see it."

Arawin stepped lightly down the stairs, wishing that this tower wasn't quite so high and there weren't quite so many floors to go down. She mentally shook her head. As long as I'm at it, I may as well wish that the War is over and Saruman will fall off the highest balcony, she thought grimly.

"Stop." The wizard commanded, and she realized that she'd walked right passed what she was apparently using to establish a connection with Sauron.

She gathered her thoughts, hoping against hope that she would have the strength to hold out against the Dark Lord.

"That is a _palantir, _Arawin, one of the seven in Arda. They can be used to see many things, and also to establish a connection between beings that possess them. Sauron holds one in his keeping, so most who have them are invariably drawn to his power."

Arawin was sure she could see where this was going.

"You will be using this to speak with him. I advise you not to resist. That will make this more painful than it needs to be. Place your hand on it."

Saruman whisked the thin black cloth off the orb, and Arawin gave an involuntary flinch. In the movement, a beam of the reducing light shone in her eyes, blinding her. She blinked, and for a split second, she heard a quiet, but somehow still commanding, female voice echo in her mind.

_Daughter of Kings, you must hold strong._

Arawin saw a brief, fleeting image of a tall woman in a white dress with piercing blue eyes turning to gaze at her, and then it was gone. The Presence left her.

Arawin blinked again, the white, searing light in her eyes leaving her to wonder if she simply imagined it. But her pounding heart told her otherwise.

She straightened, feeling a new strength flood through her. _Hold strong._

Saruman noticed her hesitation. "What is the delay about?"

Arawin knew, inexplicably, that she could not tell the wizard what she had seen. "The light caught in my eyes." She said in a neutral tone. Saruman glanced at her suspiciously, then, apparently deciding nothing of importance had happened, looked away.

"Well, girl, I do not have all day." Arawin met his eyes with her own. _I am not afraid of you._

He glared at her, and she knew there would be no fighting her way out of this situation. She inhaled briefly, let her newfound strength flood through her mind, and laid her hand on the _palantir._

Instantly, a presence assaulted her. It dove into her mind and searched her memories. It was what Arawin imagined being caught naked in front of your worst enemy would feel like—but somehow it was worse than that.

Arawin's thoughts and worst fears and greatest hopes and most crushing sorrows were laid bare in front of it. Her real surroundings seemed to fall away, and there was only she and the monster that seemed to be all around her, all at once.

She gasped for air, trying to recover herself and fight back against the power that was slowly overcoming her.

_Arawin… _A voice hissed, echoing all around her so it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

_Descendant of the Numenor…. _The voice took on a more mocking edge. _Are there more of your race? _He questioned her, the force of the inquiry making her fight for breath, but somehow, she maintained the flickering light of strength.

_Hold strong. _The command came back to her again. The being that was constraining her slammed into her in full force.

_Are there?! _He pressed her, driving her consciousness back, giving her no room to resist. Yet somehow, resist she did. Her whole body shuddered, but somehow, she dredged up all her grief, all her joy, every experience that had made her who she was, as well as the power that was in her blood, and stood by it.

This was the pivotal moment. She knew it with the same instinct that had driven her all her life. This was what would define her. And so, Arawin, daughter of Arahael, held strong.

_No. _She replied calmly.

She flung herself away, and suddenly she was falling through space, her hand wrenched free of the _palantir. _Arawin hit the floor hard and he lay there, barely having the strength to breathe.

* * *

_Saruman_

Late that night, where Saruman's new pawn—or so he believed—was in her quarters, Saruman spoke to Sauron.

"_Could she have lied?" _ The Dark Lord hissed in his mind.

"No, I do not believe she could have." Saruman answered smoothly. "Her strength was spent. In any case, I doubt she would have known, even if there were any other. Who would have told her? It is true, Gandalf believes he has found his heir, but the White Wizard's—"He paused with scorn at his former colleague's new piety.

"—judgement is askew. And Arawin's will is broken. I have made sure of that." He glanced up to the top floor, where he knew her to be. "My lord, I do believe that nothing can upset our plans now."

* * *

_A/N me accidentally typing 'Darn Lord' instead of 'Dark Lord'… _

_Thanks very much for the reviews! I really can't tell you how much I've appreciated them, especially as how the world's ending and all. I didn't really proofread this because I just wanted to get it out there, so sorry in advance for mistakes. _

_Stay safe everyone!_


	13. On the Pinnacle of Orthanc

At the highest peak of Isengard, Arawin stood alone. Wind whipped through her hair as she gazed, without any particular interest, at the forest bordering Isengard.

It seemed to go on for miles, but was beautiful in a wild, untamed way. Arawin wondered if she would ever get the chance to see all the lands in Middle Earth, like she had once dreamed of as a child. She supposed that she should feel lucky that she had gotten this far, that she had gotten a taste of the adventure she had sought all her life.

She knew that she _should_ feel that way, but she didn't. After all, contemplating one's rapidly approaching death wasn't the most gratitude-inducing pastimes, but hour after hour, Arawin's thoughts were inexplicably drawn to the subject. Once—or, she admitted to herself, probably twice—she had deliberated about simply doing what Saruman wanted, just giving up.

But she had fought that doubt and overcame it. She knew that if in the end she did not have full conviction about what she was planning to do, she would not be able do to it. Therefore, however painful it might be, she brought all her fears and doubts to the surface and cast them away. She was set, now, on what she was going to do.

Letting herself go through the plan one more time, she scrutinized it for any possible flaws.

She would let herself be transported to Gondor and become Queen. She couldn't think of any way to get out of that, but she assumed that Saruman would be on high alert for any attempt at deception or escape from the time she left Isengard to when she was in Minas Tirith.

She also assumed that after the crowning, he would relax and watch her less. That would give her time to explain to the Steward why she was there and the Dark Lord's plan to strike Gondor. She hoped that… that she would be able to make sure that her goodbyes got to Edward and Mildred—who, she affirmed to herself, _would_ come out of this alive, even if Arawin wouldn't.

Arawin wondered if the way she would die was as painful as Saruman made it out, or if he was merely exaggerating to make her more afraid. It seemed wrong that a life could be taken by one simple snap of a finger, but then again, a lot of things seemed wrong about this scenario.

Somehow, she got the feeling that he hadn't been also wondered what it felt like, dying, and if she would be able to see what the outcome of the war would be, wherever she was when she was dead.

It was strange, thinking about her death so cold-bloodedly, but at least last night she had cried all her tears, and in the morning there were none left. She had finally allowed herself to let out all her sobs, crying for her parents and her town and Mildred and sometimes her own life—something she knew would be gone in a few weeks' time.

Now, on this black, cold tower, she was able to survey her death dispassionately, or as dispassionately as one could when doing the latter.

The bright sun overhead climbed higher and higher in the sky, and around noon Arawin noticed something that made her stand and squint over the edge of the tower. She had never been scared of high edges, and that fact helped her now.

Squinting to the West, she saw that something strange appeared to be happening in the Great Forest. At first she thought a tumultuous wind was sweeping it, making the leaves rustle and causing it to appear to be moving. But no, when she looked closer she saw that the trees themselves were actually moving.

From the borders of the forest there came a great bellow, the noise of which she could hear from this distance, and the trees started to move forward in earnest, closer and closer… and if Arawin was not much mistaken, and not just going insane from the many hours she had been imprisoned, they were coming towards Isengard itself.

Backing away quickly from the edge, she scoured her brain of everything she'd ever heard about the Entwood, trying to find any explanation whatsoever that the trees were moving besides, of course, the obvious fact that she was mental.

Unexpectedly, springing out of the very depths of her mind came a memory; she was sure she had been very young at the time, perhaps even younger than the age of one.

This was supported by the fact that she could not recall Morwen, Edward, or her father displayed at all, which was strange because all of her young memories had at least one of those people present. Instead there was a woman with serious grey eyes and long dark hair, calling Arawin back from a forest.

_Don't go in there, _iel nin, _the Ents will get you! _

It was clear to Arawin _now_ that the words had been spoken as a joke, but her month old self had only heard the ominous note in the woman's voice, so she had backed away quickly. To her surprise, Arawin decided that that woman had been her true mother.

Deciding to dwell on this fact more later, when whole forests weren't coming to life, she focused on the mention of Ents. The word had been spoken when she had gone near the trees, so she assumed that the word was indicating them somehow.

Without any more evidence to prove her otherwise, Arawin assumed that the trees were the Ents coming to life. She wasn't as surprised as she might have been, thinking that while she was being tortured in a black tower trees may as well come to life and knock it down just to tally with what her luck had been so far.

While she had been thinking the Ents (that was what she now thought of them as) had drawn nearer until they were almost to the deep ditches around the tower. Arawin couldn't hear any horns or sounds inside the tower, so she assumed that Saruman had not noticed yet.

But surely it was only a matter of time. Arawin certainly wasn't going to go to great lengths to inform Saruman that his precious tower was under threat. Of course, there was the possibility that the Ents were on the wizard's side and were coming to help him, but judging from the war cries that were getting louder, she doubted that considerably.

She prayed that she would be spared from the siege that was basically inevitable, but in the back of her mind a tiny ray of hope glowed. If they were under siege, she wouldn't be able to go to Gondor, and maybe she wouldn't have to become Queen and follow through with her plan.

But at the moment she didn't dare to hope. She could only be content to watch for the moment.

At first glance it did seem that it was the trees that were moving, but on closer inspection she saw that the Ents only _resembled_ trees, but looked a bit like what would happen if a tree and a troll had been crossed. The Ent at the front, she noticed, seemed to have two children on its shoulders, or at least some very small humanoids.

As they got nearer to the walls surrounding Orthanc they began to literally _punch_ the walls, and it actually seemed like they were doing some damage. They surrounded the black borders and knocked them down with what seemed like only small effort.

Arawin wished she had been imprisoned on the lower levels, so she could at least see a little clearer. As the first Ents crossed into the border a blast blew from inside the ditches, so the few orcs that were still at Isengard stormed outside to fight.

They may as well been breaking down rocks with feathers for all the good the orcs did. Arawin was sure by this point that the Ents did not wish Saruman any good will, and for that she was relatively happy. Vaguely she heard Saruman shouting something in the level under her, and with a bang the trapdoor on the pinnacle slammed open.

Grima Wormtongue emerged from the tower and went to stand next to her, glaring with one hand on his sword. Arawin was not much concerned about this, because it seemed more for show than for use. She assumed that Saruman had ordered Wormtongue to make sure she didn't escape.

Not that there was any point. What was she going to do, leap off the top of the tower and hope that an Ent caught her? For all they knew she was an enemy.

Smoke began to rise from the deep ditches and fires leapt up. Some of the Ents were burned, but they merely paused for a moment and continued with the razing of Isengard. At least, for the most part. Try as they might, they couldn't seem to be able to take down the tower.

Arawin was in equal parts grateful and disappointed, the former because she was in the tower, and the latter because Saruman was, obviously, there as well.

Meanwhile huge rocks flew at the black stone and roots crumbled it, but the next thing that happened decided the outcome of the battle once and for all.

Unnoticed by the orcs and men, a few Ents had left the main battle and went over to the dam that kept the River Isen from flowing. They cracked the dam and with a roar that Arawin could hear even from that height, the water crashed into the ditches, putting out the fires and sweeping away orcs and machines.

A few minutes after that the battle was finished, and Saruman came up the trapdoor to call Wormtongue back.

"We are under siege." He said and his pale face was flushed with anger. "The accursed Ents have struck a blow to us. Wormtongue, come with me. And _you," _he turned to her, his eyes flashing viciously. "You will not call out or reveal yourself in any way if you value your life."

Arawin's expression tightened but she said nothing. Saruman searched her face once and then, apparently satisfied, descended the steps with Wormtongue following him.

Arawin peered down at the Ents walking the grounds of Isengard below. One looked up, apparently sensing her scrutiny, and she recognized him as the leader of the Ents.

His deep, old eyes met hers and so sharp and searching was his gaze that Arawin was forced to look away. _At least someone knows I'm here, _she thought bitterly, and thought of Aragorn.

Unbeknownst to her, that very person and few others were riding there at that moment.

* * *

_A/N __Thanks for those who reviewed. I really appreciate it._


	14. How the Mighty Fall

_Aragorn_

They had been riding for hours.

Gimli had been grumbling for so long that it had become background noise for Aragorn, but Gandalf, Legolas, and Theoden hadn't spoken for almost the whole ride, and Aragorn wasn't in a hurry to break the silence.

Though an excellent rider, Aragorn felt that the jolts of the horse's trots were more prominent then usual—or perhaps it was just the pangs in his heart whenever his thoughts strayed to the events of the Battle of Hornburg.

So many losses… Aragorn had participated in or been affected by many battles in his long lifetime, and this had been one of the most death-ridden of them all. If Eomer and his Riders had arrived less than an hour earlier, hundreds of lives may have been spared.

In all fairness, he was for the most part thinking of Haldir, who had perished in the battle, and Arawin.

He had done his best not to blame himself for Arawin's death, having known her well enough to be fully aware that he could no more have prevented her from going to battle than he could have stopped the sun from rising. Still, he felt a aching in his chest when he thought of what he could have done differently, though Legolas had told him that Aragorn had been in an entirely different area of the battle when she had been killed.

The elf prince had told Aragorn of her idea about the ladders and taking it upon herself to do it. He had recounted to Aragorn of her coming face to face with an Uruk-Hai general, and her ultimately going down.

No body had been found, admittedly, and Legolas _had _lost sight of her after seeing her fall, it was true, but she had not appeared after the battle and they were forced to conclude that she had been killed.

In the hours before the assault had begun, Arawin, Legolas, and Aragorn had been talking about nothing in particular, (Aragorn believed that the subject matter had been Legolas' strange dislike of apples, and then moved on to other things), their words punctuated by laughter, and Aragorn had felt so natural in talking to the girl that he had been surprised.

Though only having known her for a few weeks, Aragorn counted her among one of his good friends, if not one of his closest. Legolas had agreed, saying she reminded him of "you, except less grim and depressing".

It seemed that Arawin's younger sister had perished as well, and Aragorn had been charged with the uncomfortable task of telling their brother, one of Edoras' guards, of their fate. The boy's grief-stricken impression, along with the distinct impression that he blamed Aragorn, had caused it to be one of the worst conversations he'd had in his lifetime.

He had done his best to move on, but one does not simply forget about a friend dying. His mind also kept thinking about her unknown heritage, and the broken sword charm that she wore on his wrist, but the only possible conclusion that he'd come to was, at the same time, impossible…

Legolas' voice brought Aragorn out of his thoughts. "We should be coming to Isengard soon, likely just past these trees."

And what should they find when the forest cleared but two hobbits, smoking on the wreckage!

They had a brief conversation with Merry and Pippin, in which they showed _no_ remorse whatsoever over the cross-country trek the two had led them in. Gimli was especially irritated, but Aragorn rode to Orthanc feeling happier than he had in days.

* * *

_Gandalf_

As they approached Isengard with Merry and Pippin, Gandalf the White was on his guard. In truth, he was usually on his guard, for times were dangerous. He did, however, relax a small bit when he saw Treebeard.

"Hah-hoom… young Master Gandalf. I'm, hoom, glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower. Which reminds me, Gandalf, could I, hrum, have a few words with you in private?"

Gandalf whispered to Shadowfax and it cantered forward a few steps.

"Treebeard, my old friend, what can I do for you?"

"Ah, well, many things, but that is not what we are to talk about. I thought you hasty folk might be interested to know that, hroom-hah, there is a human girl on the top of the tower."

"A girl? Who is this girl?"

"Hmmm, well, I don't rightly know. I've seen her pacing the floor for many hours. You cannot see her now," He added this part, for Gandalf had looked up. "She may have been called back into the tower. Now, I have not talked to Saruman for a while, but I believe he has not had someone else in Isengard lately, am I correct?"

"Yes," said Gandalf, thinking deeply. "Has this girl spoken to you?"

"Hoom, no, but I have received the impression that she would like to. Perhaps she is under orders from the wizard."

"Perhaps, my friend. Well, with any luck this mystery will be solved soon."

* * *

_Arawin_

Arawin felt weak.

Not weak in the sense that she couldn't do anything to get out of this cursed tower even _now, _when possible saviors were_ literally _right outside her door—well, she supposed she did feel weak in that sense as well. But for the main part, she felt weak like it was actually getting harder to stand up and pace the top of the tower.

At first she thought that she was just getting tired of doing nothing but walk in circles for half the day, so she sat down for a moment. But when she got so restless and worried with nothing to distract her that she had to get up again, and she was still exhausted, she knew—this went beyond normal fatigue.

She felt the weariness in her bones, in her heart, almost like her very soul was being broken up into pieces. She started to get up and pace again anyway, almost just to spite whatever was making her feel this way, but the minute she stood up, she got a very shrewd idea of what was causing it.

A sharp pain, starting at the angry eye-shaped burn on her arm and going up through her whole body, made her gasp and fall back down to the cold marble. Blowing her tangled dark hair out of her eyes, she sat up with difficulty, trying not to shudder.

If she was going to be honest with herself, she had felt this coming on for a while, starting with the day Saruman had cursed her. Was this what dying felt like? Had he been so angry with the Ents that he had decided to just kill her? Or was the mere presence of the curse sucking at her life-force?

Arawin lay against one of the black spikes surrounding her and closed her eyes. She wouldn't be getting up again for a while.

* * *

A long time later—or perhaps it was no time at all, the hours were hard to judge—Arawin thought she heard the clip-clop of horse's hooves.

She rose uncertainly, peered over the edge of the tower, and what she saw nearly made her fall off the pinnacle. If she was assuming she was not going delusional, it looked to be Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, King Theoden, and the old man in white robes whose name Arawin still didn't know. She was so surprised that, forgetting Saruman's threats, she started to say, "Aragor—"

And just as quickly she felt a hand slap across her mouth. "Silence!" A voice hissed. Whipping around she saw Saruman rising up from the trapdoor, Wormtongue ahead of him.

"The Grey Fool and the so-called King of Rohan has come. Gag her and hold her, Wormtongue, and keep her out of sight for now. This girl could be the bargaining piece for my life."

"Our lives, you mean?" Wormtongue said.

"Of course," said Saruman icily, though Arawin didn't think he meant anything of the sort. She heard the voices at the bottom of the tower growing louder and she knew they must be at practically the foot of the tower right then

She struggled a little when Wormtongue took her, just to show she wasn't going to go quietly, but Saruman turned, and, backhanded, slapped her across the face, so that Arawin saw stars and went quiet. She could not believe that it was possible to be so close, yet so far, in the most literal sense of the saying.

"Hold her." Saruman told Wormtongue again, and strode forward.

"You have fought many wars and slayed many men, Theoden King." His voice was now kind and modulating, like a grandfather would speak to a disobedient child. "And made peace afterwards. Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace?

"We shall have peace." Theoden said. Arawin bit her lip, worried, but guessed that that was not all the king had to say.

"We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lay dead there!"

Arawin would have cheered if she still hadn't had Wormtongue's greasy hand pressed against her mouth.

"We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, Saruman, then we shall have peace."

"Gibbets and crows? Dotard!" Saruman sneered. "What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? The key of Orthanc, or perhaps the keys of Barad-dur itself along with the Crowns of the Seven Kings and the Rods of the Five Wizards!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," said the old man who must have been Gandalf. "Thousands more are at risk. But you can save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's council."

Arawin couldn't see Saruman's face, but she thought he must have smiled. "So you have come here for information? I have some for you."

Saruman jerked his head at Wormtongue and he pushed Arawin forward. She stumbled and was immediately caught by the neck by Saruman. She didn't choke, though she had to stifle the urge, and tilted her head in defiance.

She could not see anyone's face clearly, but Aragorn's horse cantered backwards in his rider's shock and Legolas, automatically it seemed, drew his bow. Gimli, however, began to yell, "Arawin!" Legolas gave him a swift shake of the head, but the damage was already done.

"Oh, so you know her?" Saruman said. "Good, good. I trade the girl's life for my freedom and the safety of Orthanc."

"You coward, Saruman," Gandalf said softly, sorrowfully. "You hold an innocent girl captive when she has done nothing to deserve it?"

Saruman's smile slid off his face, replaced by an ugly scowl. "You call me coward? You?! You who sends Halflings into the very fires of Mordor? You who lets men fight their battles for you?" He threw Arawin to the floor, yanked up her hand, and removed her mithril bracelet.

She had thrown out her left hand to stop her fall and it now smarted with pain from the force of the blow. But she would not show weakness. She rose slowly and held her head high.

"But what am I saying?" Saruman inhaled through his nose. "You came here for information, as you said. But this girl is no _innocent, _Gandalf Stormcrow. This is Arawin, daughter of Arahael, descended from the right line of Isildur through Arvedui and Firiel themselves! She carries Isildur's Pendant."

He tossed the bracelet off the tower where it fell with a splash into the grimy water below. Aragorn dismounted his horse and picked it up. Gandalf gave him a brief, sharp glance, and then returned his piercing gaze to Saruman.

"She is looking much more desirable for bargaining now, is she not, Gandalf?" Saruman smirked. "Always you seek important beings, and here I have found the Heir of Isildur first! And you would need one to unite the kingdoms of men, you know this, but all the men in all of Arda would not be enough to hold back that which festers in Middle Earth."

"I have seen it, Gandalf, and you have not. The Great Eye has seen it as well." He held up the Palantir. "Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon, and you will all die."

Gandalf's horse moved closer to the base of Orthanc and Saruman set the Palantir down.

"But you know this too, Gandalf, don't you? And you gave whom you believe to be the Heir of Isildur the Ring of Barahir!" He laughed scornfully.

"Though I admit, the girl does not quite look the part, but you cannot believe that this _Ranger _will ever sit upon the thrown of Gondor? This exile who crept from the shadows will never be crowned king. Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those close to him, those he professes to _love. _Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfling when you sent him to his doom?"

Aragorn was back on his horse then, and Arawin did not see his face change at the insults to him and his heritage. His face only fell at the last sentence that Saruman had spoken.

"I've heard enough!" Gimli bellowed, and then muttered something to Legolas, who put an arrow to the string. Gandalf shook his head at them.

"Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared, if you bring the girl down as well."

"Save your pity and your mercy. I have no use for it!" Saruman raised his staff and shot a ball of fire and Gandalf, which enveloped him. Arawin stifled a scream, but when the flames died away, there was Gandalf, looking unscathed.

Saruman stepped backward.

"Saruman, your staff is broken." Gandalf thrust out a hand and the staff shattered in the other wizard's hand. Unnoticed by Saruman, Wormtongue crept out behind Arawin.

Theoden noticed, however. "Grima! You need not follow him. You were once a man of Rohan. Come down."

Saruman turned and jeered. "A man of Rohan! What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Theoden Horse-Master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Theoden kept his eyes on Wormtongue. "Grima, come down. Be free of him."

"Free?" The wizard scoffed. "He will never be free."

Wormtongue muttered something.

"Get down, cur!" Saruman kicked Wormtongue to the floor, and Arawin almost felt pity for him. They were both victims of Saruman, really.

"Saruman, you were deep in the enemy's council! Tell us what you know!" Gandalf repeated.

"Withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here."

With a sudden flare of instinct, Arawin dove away from Saruman, and then several things happened at once.

Wormtongue pounced on his captor with a dagger, stabbing him in multiple places. Arawin scrambled to her feet, watching in horror. The force of the blows caused Saruman to fall off the pinnacle of the tower. She whirled around, watching Wormtongue to see what he would do, now that Arawin was the only one left on the tower.

She hated being helpless, and she knew that was where she was right then. Wormtongue held a dagger and she had no way of protecting herself. His lip curled and he sheathed his dagger. Arawin relaxed for half a second, and then Wormtongue pushed her, as if he could not stop himself from doing one more spiteful act.

An arrow whistled through the air to pierce Grima as Arawin stumbled backwards. His push was a feeble one, and she would have been able to regain her balance, until everything went wrong.

The burn on her left arm burned more fiercely than she'd felt since the beginning, worse than when it first appeared, worse than when Saruman was torturing her. The agony wracked her body, and as darkness invaded her mind the last thing she felt was herself falling.

* * *

_Saruman_

Saruman knew that his death was coming. His staff was broken, there was no way to break his fall, but during that fall that seemed to last for an eternity, he knew one thing: he would not let Gandalf Greyhame have no punishment for Saruman's death.

His staff was broken, but he did not need his staff to trigger the curse that he had laid on the girl. She would have been getting weaker all day, for that kind of magic sapped away the person's life-force. But she just needed one final push… and Saruman was happy to provide it.

And this was one thing that Gandalf would not cure, for whom of the Maia would? Saruman closed his eyes right before he hit the spike on the base of the tower, snapped his fingers, and above him he heard the girl scream.

* * *

_A/N Thanks for everyone who reviewed! _


	15. Will and Hope

_Aragorn_

Aragorn saw Arawin fall.

Legolas had let his arrow fly and had pierced Wormtongue, who had pushed Arawin. Even from this far below the tower Aragorn had been able to tell that it was a feeble push, one Arawin would have certainly been able to recover from, but something went wrong, and now she was falling.

Aragorn's mind had gone blank. There was nothing he could do. He turned to Gandalf, who read the look on his face instantly. The wizard murmured something under his breath, pointed his staff at Arawin, and she slowed right before she hit the ground.

Aragorn and Gandalf dismounted and rushed to the girl, Gimli and Legolas close behind them. Merry and Pippin peered over at them in curiosity. Pippin leaned down to pick something up in the water and Aragorn turned quickly.

"Don't touch that, Master Took. Here, give it to me." Pippin uncertainly handed it to the Ranger. The brief moment that he touched the cold glass caused him to flinch, a vision of an Eye searing his mind. He dropped it into Gandalf's saddle bag quickly and did not notice the odd way Pippin was looking at the _palantir._

He turned back to Arawin to see her lying in the grimy water, and a spasm of shock hit him as what Saruman had said about her really sunk in: she was of the line of Isildur… But as he dropped down next to Arawin, the thoughts flew out of his mind.

Her face was very pale and she hardly seemed to be breathing, though every once in a while she let out a great gasp, like she was clawing her way out of a river. Gandalf looked up at Aragorn, and the look on his face caused him to grip the Evenstar pendant tightly.

"What's wrong with her?" Aragorn looked at Gandalf and Legolas. In all the Ranger's years of being a Healer, he had never seen anything like this. The only thing the symptoms reminded him of was Frodo, after the disastrous events of Weathertop. That memory did not bolster his spirits very much.

"I do not know." Gandalf said. Legolas shrugged helplessly.

"It is likely some last devilish trick of Saruman's." Gimli growled, hitting his axe on the ground.

Aragorn placed the back of his hand on Arawin's forehead. It was burning hot. "She is fevering, but there is no sweat." He said worriedly. "And her fingers are cold as ice."

The sun shone in Aragorn's eyes when he looked at him, but he thought he saw Gandalf's face whiten. "Check her left arm."

"Why—"

"Do not question me on this, Aragorn. If what I fear is true, she has very little time."

Aragorn rolled back her left sleeve and what they saw made Legolas mutter a sharp Elvish curse. On her forearm was a nasty red, eye-faced burn. Gandalf closed his eyes briefly. Aragorn had never seen the wizard this worried before.

"What's wrong with her?" He asked again.

"It is what I feared. She has been inflicted by the magical disease called, in the common tongue, Sickness of the Necromancer."

Legolas' eyes widened. "The Necromancer? Not—"

"Yes, the Necromancer who dwelled in Dol Goldur. It is the disease that Thrain, son of Thror, father of Thorin, died from when I found him there. It originates from Sauron himself, a slow an exceedingly painful way of killing his victims. When I saw Thrain, it was too late to save him, and after this encounter I was so disturbed that I consulted Saruman. He told me that he had heard of it before and there was nothing I could have done that would have saved him… Or nothing I would have been willing to do."

"What does the sickness do?" Aragorn asked. Arawin's fever seemed to have died down, which ordinarily would have been a good thing, but her skin was now as cold as ice, and she shuddered a little in her trance.

Gandalf looked at him. "It slowly eats away at its victims' souls."

Legolas stood up, looking horrified. Elves were very sensitive about the state of their soul. The legend was even that Sauron created orcs from torturing elves so deeply that it corrupted their very souls.

"Then there is nothing we can do but watch her die?" Aragorn said angrily, though knowing it was not Gandalf's fault. He had been trained only to heal physical wounds, but this was completely out of his area.

"The elves cannot cure it?" Legolas asked.

"No. This is one thing that is beyond even Elrond in his own House."

Aragorn bowed his head, thinking then that there was no hope… then Gandalf began speaking in.

"But you did not let me finish. Saruman told me there was nothing I would be willing to do. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that he would have not been willing to do it. Reviving a soul or destroying it is a very, very complicated thing. The Valar did not intend for the soul to even be harmed in the first place… or at least not in our realm. To do so would take a part of my ability for magic, and it would take it permanently."

"I do not fully understand," said Aragorn, his feeling of foreboding increasing.

"When I perform a spell, it depletes my energy reserves. Depending on how large the magic is, the more it taxes me. This is an extremely complicated piece of magic, and what is more, when it wearies me, I will not get that power back after rest. I doubt that only the head of our order would be able to accomplish it. Saruman inflicted this on Arawin because he did not believe that, even if she was somehow rescued, I would not have the power or the will to cure it. He certainly would not. He judges what others would do upon his own instincts, and that was his downfall."

"So, you will do it?" Aragorn said, feeling both glad and daunted at the same time.

"You'll be able to perform your magic afterwards still, though?" Gimli wondered.

"Certainly I will. Now that I am Gandalf the White, I have seven times the power I once did. This will simply make it six. Now stop asking me questions, I need to concentrate."

Pippin closed his mouth hastily after Merry punched him on the arm without looking.

Aragorn didn't glance at them for long. There would be time to explain later. "You're sure this will work?" He asked.

Gandalf looked piercingly at Aragorn. "Honestly? I do not know for sure. Nothing like this has even been attempted before. All we can do is hope."

And that was what Aragorn was best at, wasn't he? Frustration broke over Aragorn in waves as he acknowledged, like he had done so many times before, that there was really nothing he could do but hope. Chieftain of the Dunedain, Heir of Isildur… no matter your titles, it didn't matter sometimes. Sometimes all you could do was watch and hope.

Gandalf looked sober. "I must warn you, however… even if I perform the spell correctly, it will matter a great deal on her will. She must fight what has taken her, for it will not let go quickly."

Aragorn nodded briefly.

Gandalf raised his staff and began muttering a string of elvish words. Slowly, a white glow began coming off Arawin, looking almost translucent. She levitated a few centimeters off the ground for a few moments, and then the glow receded and she dropped to the ground, looking paler than she had before.

"Did it work?" Aragorn asked.

The wizard looked extremely grave. "This would be the most temperamental part of the proceedings. I have given her a way out, now we must see if she takes it."

In the shallow water before them, Arawin moaned softly and turned over.

_Arawin_

In the darkness that she was encased in, Arawin saw a light.

It was faint, and flickering… but it was there. Somehow, she knew that she had to get to it, and she would be free.

In the past few moments in this place—or perhaps it was hours, or days, in this state she could not tell—were the most agonizing she had ever felt. It was all darkness and fear and everything she hated most, all crammed into one place.

It was like there were beings all around her, trying to pull her farther in, and she was trying to fight back, put every resisting tug was like a stab in the heart.

But then the light appeared, and the beings ran away from it. The glow looked like it was scorching them. Arawin moved toward it.

The ones pulling her grabbed her again and began to drag her back more fiercely, as if determined not to lose their prize. Arawin felt her old rebellious streak come up, and she kicked away and moved upwards.

The beings howled and latched on once more, and their hands felt like hot coals. She screamed out, not knowing if anyone could hear her—was this just some sort of a demented nightmare? Was it even real? Would she be stuck in this place forever—?

The beings howled again, but this time it was of triumph, because when she thought those hopeless thoughts, they became stronger.

_No!_

She struggled more frantically than ever before, ignoring how her whole body was throbbing. She was getting closer, she reached out a finger and it brushed the place where the light was coming from.

With a gasp she sat up, not recognizing where she was. It was dark outside and there was someone sitting next to her, who stirred and turned around. She couldn't recognize who it was, but it seemed to be a child, or something that looked like a child.

"What in Bullroarer's beard—ay, Gandalf! GANDALF! The girl's awake!"

Arawin's body shook from the exertion it had taken to sit up, and she fell back down. The child looked at her in concern.

"You alright, lass?"

Arawin honestly did not know the answer to that question, so she remained silent. The child didn't seem to think her quiet was strange and held out a hand.

"Well, I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, anyway, but most folk call me Merry."

"Are you a child?" Arawin asked, and then felt embarrassed.

Merry rolled his eyes and called over to someone else sitting on a rock and smoking. "Oy, Pippin! D'you think that all the Big Folk we meet are going to say that?"

Pippin turned. "I'd say so, Merry. Is she awake? Where have Gandalf and Strider got to?"

Arawin wondered who Strider was, but was too exhausted to ponder on it much. She closed her eyes right as she heard footsteps coming closer to her.

"She's awake?" A very familiar voice said.

"Well, she was, but not anymore, it seems."

"Have you been talking her to death, Meriadoc?" Her tired mind helpfully supplied the fact that that was Gandalf's voice, who had been talking to Saruman on the tower.

Saruman! All her memories flooded back and her eyes opened again. She saw a worried face standing over her.

"Aragorn?"

He nodded and kneeled down next to her. "Her pulse is steady." He told Gandalf. He seemed to smile and lean on his staff.

"If she is conscious, then the spell was successful. You have a strong will, child."

Arawin smiled faintly. "What happened? I remember falling, and then—"She couldn't finish the sentence. The sun was starting to rise over the treetops, and she didn't want to think about wherever she had been before she had woken up.

"You need to rest." Aragorn told her.

She shook her head. "I want to know what happened."

Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged a look. "Well… Saruman cursed you." Aragorn said.

Arawin's eyes widened. If that was true, then—"I should be dead. I was _meaning_ to die. I…" She swallowed and tried to sit up again, and the movement caused her to look down at her arm. The eye-shaped mark was less prominent, but still there.

Gandalf followed her gaze. "You'll always have that, I'm afraid." He said. "It is permanent."

Arawin wasn't concerned about the burn at the moment. "How am I still alive?"

Aragorn told her what Gandalf had done and what the illness was. She turned around and stared at Gandalf. He was a _wizard! _Why would he help her so much? She supposed that she was a bit prejudiced in wizards' favor because of Saruman, but why would someone so powerful heal her?

She remembered that Saruman had told them that she was of the Line of Isildur. Maybe that was why. "I don't think that I'm exactly worth a part of your magic, but thank you." Arawin said.

"Well, of course you are." Gandalf looked surprised at her words. "I would not let a being die when I had the power to save them."

Aragorn fished Arawin's _mithril_ bracelet out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it and fastened it on her wrist.

"When you've recovered, we are going to have a talk." Aragorn said. She looked up at him and their eyes met, gray to gray. Arawin nodded, resigned.

* * *

_Aragorn_

Arawin was resting, and Gandalf decided that they were to camp at Isengard for the rest of the night and leave in the morning. Aragorn was grateful for this, for he had been restless all day and most of the night. Gandalf had said that they had done what they could for Arawin, and now they just had to wait.

He couldn't remember feeling more relieved in his life when they had heard Merry yelling that the girl was awake. After she had fallen asleep again, Gandalf and Aragorn had moved away from the hobbits.

They sat in companionable silence, Aragorn pondering the events of the day.

Another heir of Isildur… of course, all Rangers of the North were descended from the Numenoreans, but Aragorn was the only one with a direct line from Elendil. Until now, at least, he thought with grim amusement.

The burden of the line was not something he would wish on anyone else. It had benefits, surely: The knowledge of your ancestors gave you confidence and pride, but at the same time, there was fear… the dread of knowing that the weakness of your forefathers flowed in your veins as well as the strength.

He felt Gandalf's eyes on him and knew that the wizard guessed well enough what Aragorn was thinking. He did not want it brought up, so he asked hastily, "Do you believe that Saruman was telling the truth?"

"I did not sense any lie in his tone." Gandalf said, knowing what Aragorn was speaking of. "Of course, the possibility remains that he merely _thought_ he was telling the truth… But I do not think so. The girl's bracelet, for one thing, testifies in the truth. Had I noticed it before, I would have suspected. It is Isildur's—if I recall correctly, the dwarves of Moria gifted it to him. It was thought to be lost. I wonder how she came to find it?"

"Her mother, Arahael, gave it to her." Aragorn remembered. Gandalf nodded slowly.

"Arahael… I do not recognize the name, but I recall meeting someone many years ago who I thought had a mithril bracelet on her wrist. Now that I think on it, she looked very much like Arawin."

Aragorn was more interested in how his apparent cousin was descended from Elendil. "Saruman said that she was descended from Firiel and Arvedui, the same as the Dunedain Chieftains. How would this have come to be?"

Gandalf was silent for a moment. "I recall reading a book once that detailed Firiel and Arvedui's life and Firiel's exile. The other had claimed he had discovered that Firiel was pregnant at the time of her exile. Perhaps that was what Saruman was referencing to. But regardless, Aragorn, I think that it is clear that she is descended from Elendil, the same as you. You both look similar, for one thing, and she behaves in a way that befits her line, though she did not know it."

Aragorn nodded briefly.

Theoden had left the day before, and the next morning the rest followed him. Though Arawin acted mostly the same way that she had before her capture, Aragorn noticed a change in her. She was quieter, less prone to anger, and though she laughed, it was less frequently.

She did not describe the events of her time in Isengard, and it was only when Aragorn found her crying quietly in her room when she told him.

* * *

_A/N Me trying to start writing early and then getting distracted listening to Hamilton.._

_I'm feeling extremely discouraged about my writing skills right now so reviews would be great! Stay safe everyone!_


	16. Dancing with Our Hands Tied

Arawin climbed on to a spare horse and she could feel everyone's eyes staring into her back. She supposed she couldn't blame them. She had been presumed dead, and then been found, and then almost died again. She guessed that she and Aragorn were now even.

Arawin's hand fell on her silver bracelet. Gandalf rode ahead of them, Aragorn and Arawin were riding close to each other, and Legolas was with Gimli at the end of the line.

They rode in silence that was unbearable to Arawin not only because her memories pierced like sharp daggers, but because she knew that Aragorn wanted to ask what had happened in Orthanc. She couldn't say how she could guess what he was thinking so easily.

She guessed it was because she thought through things pretty much the same way he did. It was likely because of the whole related-through-the-line-of-Isildur thing, which she still couldn't quite wrap her head around.

Finally Arawin couldn't stand being alone with her own thoughts anymore. She turned to glanced at Aragorn and saw that he had started to open his own mouth to speak.

"I know what you're going to ask." Arawin said quietly. "I'm sorry, but I can't talk about what happened there. Maybe not for a long time."

Aragorn was silent for a moment. "I can't image what he put you through there, Arawin, and I have no desire to make you relive it. But sometimes talking to someone—"

"Don't." Arawin hadn't meant to say it so bluntly, but she felt like if he pushed her she would break. Holding back the recollection of that place felt like pushing back a dam with pebbles; the water kept shooting through. "Please."

She looked up at the White Mountains in the distance and it felt like she was shattering. Aragorn looked at her with an expression that she couldn't read, but she felt the worry radiating off him.

Arawin didn't want to be pitied. She could get through this alone. She _had _to. Arawin kicked her horse to ride ahead and somehow the silence felt deeper than before.

* * *

Arawin didn't know what to feel when they crossed through the gates of Edoras. She supposed it was the closest thing she had to a home now, what with Westfold being destroyed, but it didn't really feel like one.

She led her horse to the stables and brushed him off. The rain pattered on top of the stable roof and the soft, heavy breathing of the horses relaxed her shoulders. There were no stable hands, just her.

Back home, whenever she had to just get away, either from Mildred being irritating or Edward being cross, or just because she needed to be alone, she would go to the stables and brush off her horses. She thought it helped her because she didn't really have to think—just brush.

In Orthanc, she'd kept herself alive by calling her family to mind, but now that she was so close to Edward, she didn't want to seek him out. The chasm between them was widening and Arawin knew that she needed to get to the other side before it became uncrossable.

And yet… she wasn't sure if she wanted to. In these few weeks she had felt more alive than all her years at Westfold combined. But recently she had learned the value of a quiet life, where there was little to no risk of death or pain. Still, what did you get in the end if you were just lying around at home tending the farm? What were the rewards? Dying in bed at a ripe old age after doing nothing worthwhile? That didn't appeal to her.

Even if she did decide she wanted to stay at Edoras with the other woman and children, there was now the added factor of her lineage. Would she be allowed to stay, or carted off to Gondor? If she understood everything correctly, a ruler who was descended from Isildur could unite Gondor and what was left of Arnor.

She or Aragorn could be that person. Obviously Aragorn would be the better choice; he was much older with more experience and, in her eyes, was everything a king should be. That didn't mean that Arawin didn't have strategic value, however. If Aragorn perished in battle she would be the next best thing, because even though she was young and female and had not been prepared on any level, she was still descended from Elendil. Undoubtedly Gandalf would want her to go to Gondor as well.

Arawin wasn't sure how she felt about being needed for once in her life—right when she didn't know if she wanted it. She sighed, her emotions rolling around inside her like broken glass. So much for not thinking.

She stroked her horse's nose and dropped the brush into the bucket, the wood making a satisfying thunk. She shut the door a little harder than she meant to and breathed in the evening air. Arawin stepped forward, so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice someone was in front of her until she slammed into her brother.

"Arawin!" Edward stared at her. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. "Lord Aragorn said that you might be in here and I thought he was joking but here you are and—oh _Valar, _we thought you were _dead!_" He crushed her in a hug and then punched her in the arm.

"What in the name of everything sacred were you _thinking_?!"

Arawin swallowed. "I—Edward, you've got to—look, it's not like I _meant _to get captured!"

"You were _captured_? By who?"

"It's a really long story." Arawin passed a hand over her eyes. "Who told you I was in here?"

"Lord Aragorn. I didn't know that you were on first name terms with him! The rumors that are going around about—wait, is Mildred with you, too?"

Arawin felt like the broken glass had solidified into a heavy ball in her stomach. "She—"Arawin hadn't allowed herself to think about it. It was easier in some ways to think Mildred was dead, instead of the longing ache that she might still be alive.

Even if she _was _alive, she was in Mordor. Saruman hadn't been lying about that, she knew. How was she supposed to get into Mordor and rescue her sister? But if she did get that chance, Arawin swore to herself she would take it.

Edward was still waiting for an answer. "I don't… I don't know."

His brown eyes narrowed. He knew her too well, he could tell when she wasn't telling the whole truth. "What do you mean you don't—"

"Why did Arag—I mean Lord Aragorn tell you to look for me?" Arawin said quickly.

"Well, he wanted me to tell you that there's going to be a feast tonight, in celebration of the victory of Helm's Deep."

"Celebration?" Arawin couldn't think of anything to celebrate about. War wasn't anything to cheer for.

"Everyone's going, even us lowly palace guards." He looked like he was only half-joking. "You _are _coming, right?"

Arawin did not want to, not by a long shot. But she supposed she owed something to Edward for 'dying'. "Yeah, I'll go."

"Good, and you _are_ going to tell me about being captured."

She didn't answer. She walked silently through back to the castle and wondered if she was going to have to wear a dress.

* * *

After a reunion with Eowyn, the Lady of Rohan let Arawin borrow one of Eowyn's dresses. It was long with sleeves that draped over Arawin's hands, and Eowyn said that the pale blue hue brought out the sky-colored flecks in Arawin's grey eyes.

She liked it, but didn't care much for getting dressed up. The sleeves were completely impractical. They would get in her food when she was eating.

Arawin slipped through the back door at the beginning of the feast. She didn't feel pretty, not really, just awkward and not herself. She pulled the sleeves up to her elbows and didn't care how many stares she got from the idiotic girls who were giggling and batting their eyelashes at the group of boys.

_Morons._

King Theoden raised a toast to the fallen and the feast began. Aragorn sat at the front with an expression like his mind was far elsewhere. After the food had been eaten, a strange mix between a dance and a drinking contest began.

Arawin saw Gimli and Legolas participating in the latter. Gimli looked like he was having the time of his life, while Legolas looked a bit uncomfortable. He smiled at her when she caught his eye, however.

She stayed away from the drinking. She wasn't of age yet, and if her mother was alive, Morwen would probably ground her until doomsday, and thought that the best way to honor her adoptive mother's memory was to avoid a hangover the next day.

Arawin drifted to the back of the dance—though it wasn't much better— while sipping a cup of cider. The sun set and the moon rose, and still the party was in full swing. She didn't see Edward anywhere and was just wondering if she could get away with going back to the room that Aragorn said she could stay in when a boy walked up to her.

"Um… hello?"

Arawin jumped a little. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice him. "Hi." She brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. The boy had dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. He was old enough that he had probably fought at Hornburg—around her age.

He was quiet for enough time that Arawin started to feel a bit nervous. "Do you need something?" She said, not knowing what else to say. No boys at Westfold had ever paid attention to her—except Adam, but that life was a million years ago.

"Oh! Yes. Er, I was wondering if you'd, um… liketocomeanddancewithme." Arawin wasn't sure if she heard him right.

"Um, sorry?"

The boy looked mortified, and she felt a wonderful momentary urge to laugh. He had probably faced down a few orcs, but he looked like he was about to throw up in fear.

"Do you—er, I was just wondering if you'd like to come and dance with me." He said the words painfully slowly this time. He studied his boots intently.

A small smile spread up Arawin's face. "Yes. I mean, I'd like to."

The boy looked up, his eyes wide. "You would?"

"Yes." The smile grew wider. The song wasn't very fast, but it wasn't extremely slow, either. "I'd love to, um…" She waited for his name.

"Oh, right. I'm Jakob, son of Harad."

"Arawin…" She hesitated. "Daughter of Arahael."

He didn't even raise his eyebrows at the outlandish name, as most did who were native to Rohan. "Well met, Arawin." He smiled at her.

"Same to you, Jakob."

Her heart seemed to beat harder in her chest as he led her out to the dance floor.

"I warn you, I'm not great at dancing." Arawin said, though she was liking this polite boy more and more.

"Oh, me neither." Jakob shrugged. "My mother hardly ever lets me go to dances, because she says I'll hurt the poor girl who's my partner."

She laughed and felt like a weight of years was being lifted off her shoulders. It felt good, for once, to just be a normal girl. "I don't mind."

"That's a relief." He bit his lip. There was silence for a few minutes.

"Where are you from?" He asked finally.

Arawin's smile died. _Apparently, Gondor. _"Westfold."

His hazel eyes widened. "But that village was—oh. _Oh_."

"Yeah." Her bracelet burned cold against her wrist.

"You're the girl who delivered the message."

"Yes."

"I'm… I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He _did _look sorry.

"It's alright. You couldn't have known." It was silent again. Jakob almost looked like he was cursing himself.

"How about you?" Arawin asked presently.

"What? Oh. Ranstead." The town was very near to Westfold. Jakob was quiet for a moment, then plunged on. "It was sacked by Isengard's orcs as well. My family escaped a few hours before the real onslaught came."

Arawin felt the familiar ache in her throat. "I know my apology doesn't help, but... I'm sorry anyway."

His blond hair fell in front of his eyes as he shrugged one shoulder briefly. "I suppose you would know how it feels."

There was a lull. The song was almost over.

"Did you know that the prefix _Ara _means royal in Sindarin?" He blurted out.

"Really?" Arawin tried to hide her pale face by leaning out of the torchlight.

"Yes." He said something under his breath that she thought sounded like _it fits._

Her face felt hot. "Um, how do you know that?"

"Oh…" He looked embarrassed, and she couldn't imagine why-she had always wanted to learn different languages. "I'm a bit of a linguist, I suppose. I speak Westron—obviously—"

Arawin laughed softly.

"—Rohirric, and I'm trying to learn Sindarin, but you would not believe how hard it is to find books on that last one."

"You speak Elvish?"

"Some. Speaking of which, isn't that an elf over there?" He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, and they rotated so Arawin could see Legolas helping a drunk Gimli to his feet. "I've been thinking about going to talk to him, but… I mean… he's an _elf._" He said this with a kind of awed terror.

"Oh, that's Legolas. I can introduce you, if you want."

Jakob's mouth fell open. "You _know _him?"

"Yes. Come on." Arawin was about to grab his hand to bring him off the dance floor, but suddenly she registered what she was doing, and, blushing, jerked her head in Legolas' direction. Jakob followed her.

"Hello, Arawin." Legolas nodded to her. Gimli mumbled something and began to tilt over. Legolas caught him and rolled his eyes.

"Who's your friend?" His blue eyes flashed in Jakob's direction. Arawin wanted to laugh at the dumbstruck expression on Jakob's face, but she figured that if she had never met an elf before, she'd be awestruck too.

"This is Jakob, son of Harad. Jakob, this is Legolas of the Woodland Elves." Arawin didn't say that Legolas was an elf prince. Jakob would probably pass out right next to Gimli.

Legolas bowed politely.

"_Mara sinye_." Jakob said. Arawin didn't know what it meant, and she silently decided to learn Elvish from Legolas or Aragorn.

A wide smile spread up Legolas'. "I was not aware that there were Men of Rohan who bothered to learn our language. _Mae govannen, mellon nin."_

Jakob grinned. "_Mae govannen_."

"Well, I must get him to the resting halls." Legolas looked at Gimli with fond annoyance.

"He'll be alright, won't he?" Arawin asked.

"He will be fine. Dwarves recover quickly from these types of things." As Legolas walked, he gave Arawin a wicked half-smile. Arawin scowled at Legolas and tried not to look at Jakob.

Unfortunately, Jakob was looking at her with… admiration? "There's much more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?"

Arawin sighed. "I suppose you could say that."

"Well, thank you anyway. I'm going to go get some drinks. Would you like any?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

As Arawin watched him go, suddenly she felt a sick cold feeling swoop over her whole body. She swayed a little, and the feeling she had held at bay since waking up at Orthanc flooded back. She pressed both hands against her skull and breathed in sharply.

Suddenly everything seemed too loud, the party, the sound of speaking, the music, it all became too much. She felt like collapsing, but instead she walked out the door as normally as she could and crumpled into the floor of her room, feeling like the world was collapsing inward.

* * *

_Elvish Translations: _

_Mara sinye—Good evening._  
_Mae govannen, mellon nin—Well met, my friend._

* * *

_A/N One of these days I'm going to end a chapter with all of my characters hanging from a cliff and see if anyone gets it._

_ I know the dance scene is kind of something that would never happen in lord of the rings this is a fantasy story not a young adult drama. BUT I felt like writing that in. SO FIGHT ME. I also felt like Arawin needed something to cheer her up. I've kind of plunged her into a hurricane that is somehow on fire during a volcanic eruption… not to mention the tornado-earthquake!_

_Anyway… please review! I appreciate them lots! If you wanna say my story is great, cool! If you want to say you'd rather cut your hand off with a butter knife than read this piece of junk, awesome! Just please tell me why. I can't do anything with unexplained critcisms._


	17. The Prophecy of Galadriel

Aragorn saw Arawin leave the room. He had been keeping an eye on her all night, and had been happy when she had found someone to dance with. But now it seemed something had gone wrong. She had turned around quickly and left the room.

He was not sure what the reason was, but he felt in his bones that something was very wrong. He slipped through the back door and out of the party. There was no sound from Arawin's room, and he did not know if that comforted him or made his fear grow.

His conversation with Gandalf earlier that day was brought to his mind, and he prayed that what the wizard had told him was not related. Aragorn knocked on the door. There was no answer. In trepidation, he waited a moment and then knocked again.

Still nothing. The door wasn't locked. He twisted the handle to find Arawin crumpled in a heap on the ground. The blood drained from his face and he knelt down next to her, his instincts as a healer taking over.

Her pulse was steady, but he drew back his hand sharply as like to one who had been burned. He had sensed something _vehement_—the last attack of a dying plague. He murmured a few Sindarin phrases designed to clean the soul and cursed the rarity of athelas.

Arawin breathed deeply and suddenly her eyes snapped open. She focused on Aragorn, and the first words out of her mouth weere a few Dwarvish curses that would have made Gimli proud. "I passed out again." She tried to sit up.

"I believe so," said Aragorn. "Do you recall what happened?"

"I was—I was dancing with a boy and he left to get some drinks, and all of a sudden everything was too loud and it was just… cold." Arawin felt some color return to her face, but she shivered at the memory.

She expected him to be shocked. Instead, he let out a long sigh. "I was afraid of that."

"What is wrong with me, Aragorn?" She closed her eyes. She was spent of being the weak link. She was tired of being sick and everyone looking at her like she was about to drop to the ground from death.

"Gandalf told me that there could be side effects." Aragorn said finally.

"Permanently?"

"He does not know. You are only the second person to be inflicted with this disease and the first to survive it. Gandalf says that he healed you, but the aftermath of a damaged soul could possibly be… exponential."

She turned her hand over on the bed, examining her lifeline. "Am I dying again?"

"Of course not." Aragorn said. "That was—_is_—the one thing that Gandalf was sure of. Unfortunately, there could be flashes of pain, like you just recently had. It should not last long. You will have to be strong."

She laughed a little bitterly. "Aren't I always?" Her grey eyes reminded him of the kind of cloud that hung over a land for days, shedding the kind of rain that slowly broke down houses.

Aragorn steeled his courage. "Arawin, I wish you to tell me about your experience at Orthanc."

She looked up, a protest forming on her mouth. He held up a hand. "Not because I need the information, but because I am concerned for you. No one should hold such an experience inside. You _need _to talk."

She was silent for a long moment. He waited. "I woke on the pinnacle," she said at last, her voice distant. "Wormtongue brought me down. I almost escaped then. I surprised him, knocked him down. I almost made it to the bottom, but Saruman used his magic and dragged me back up. He told me that I was descended from Elendil. I did not believe him at first.

"He told me about my mother and how he discovered the missing line. Wormtongue heard her telling my father who she was. A few weeks later the orcs attacked their town. They hid me, but Wormtongue told the orcs what he had heard and those monsters told Saruman. Then you found me and Saruman lost the trail. He told me my parents died in Mordor, one of the slaves to the enemy." She paused to take a breath.

"Later, he said, the orcs caught my adoptive father and they tortured him for information on me before they killed him. The destruction of Westfold happened partially because of me. He was hoping to capture me. I believed that I was descended from Isildur after that. It made to much sense to be a lie. Then he told me that he wanted me to become Queen of Gondor and order the people to stand down. I said that if the people had any sense they would never listen to a seventeen year old girl."

_That's true, _thought Aragorn. _Denethor would sooner throw her into the dungeons than give up power. _

"He replied that they would if I had the locket and sword of Isildur. He called it the Galad-Estel."

Aragorn was shocked out of his silence. "He has it? The sword of Isildur? They say it was lost an age ago, if it ever existed at all."

"He said it was only a copy, but he had seen it before. Saruman said that I ordering Gondor to step down would be a good situation for all. I could sit on a pretty throne," she practically spat out those words. "…and the people could be brought out of harm's way. He said I could come with him willingly and have everything I wanted."

She closed her eyes. "I said I would rather die than work with him."

Aragorn marveled that she said this without any boasting. Instead it was as if it was the only option available. She told him about her sister's capture in Mordor and Saruman's final threat—the infliction of the disease upon her. And still she had resisted.

"After he had done that he tortured me for—for hours." Arawin bit the inside of her cheek. She could feel Aragorn's eyes on her, pitying her, marveling. She didn't want to be pitied, and it was painful enough recounting her imprisonment without being made like some sort of hero.

She could hear the noises of the party dying down. Her thoughts drifted to Jakob, who had gotten drinks for a girl who had left without explanation. She wondered if he had found another partner… maybe he had been just waiting for her to leave.

Arawin blinked. Why was she worrying about _that_? She had just escaped from being imprisoned by a _wizard_, for the Valar's sake.

Aragorn had wanted her to tell him the story. It was almost over, and to her surprise she wanted to finish. It felt like the poison was being extracted from her with every word she spoke. But next she would have to talk about the palantir and Sauron—the memory made her shudder.

He deserves to know, she told herself firmly. She took a breath and spoke of the woman who had told her to 'hold strong', and looking into the palantir. Aragorn inhaled sharply. "You resisted Sauron without him breaking you mind? Arawin, do you have any idea how much strength that requires?"

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and murmured, "Yes. I was there."

Aragorn shook his head. "Do you know who it was that appeared to you?"

"No, I was hoping that you would."

"I may have some idea." He hesitated. "You say she had long golden hair and blue eyes?"

"Yes, and she was very fair."

"I believe that you saw the Lady Galadriel." Arawin felt a shiver go up her spine, and she did not know if its denotation was good or bad.

"Who is she?"

Aragorn hesitated again. "She is the Lady of Lothlorien, one of the two great Elven Havens in middle earth. She is the wife of Lord Celeborn, mother to Celebrian, and grandmother to Arwen Undomiel." His voice dipped slightly when he said the last name in the set.

Arawin did not comment on it, although if she had to guess whom Aragorn's heart belonged to, it would be this Arwen.

"Do you have more to say?" Arawin asked, for she sensed something else in Aragorn's grim gaze. His lips made a straight line.

"I think… I think it is time to tell you how I came to be here."

"To Rohan?"

"Yes. To tell you the truth, I did not intend to come here at all. Well, there are many things I did not intend to happen…" He trailed off, his eyes far away and sad. "It is a long tale, but I believe you are ready.

"I see," Though she didn't really.

"Before I begin, you must swear to not disclose this to _anyone_."

"Of course."

"You do not understand." He grabbed her wrist. "_No one_ can know. The secrecy and importance of this is exceedingly great. I am making an extreme mistake by telling even you."

The intensity of his words surprised her. "I swear. You do not have to tell me if it is of this severity." Nevertheless, she was sure that she may explode with curiosity if he stopped there.

He let out a puff of air and released her hand. "No. You of all people deserve to know."

"If you're sure…"

He leaned back against the wall, not noticing her words. "Do you know the story of The Last Alliance of Elves and Men?"

"I do not think so."

"Very well, I will tell it to you. It is as good a place as any to start.

He closed his eyes and began as if he was reciting something learned long ago but never forgotten. "Sauron deceived the great elven smiths into making rings, great rings of power for every race. Seven for the dwarf lords, three for the elves, and nine for the mortal kings. However, in secret he forged the last and most powerful of them all: The One Ring. In this ring he put much of his power and ensnared the Seven and the Nine. One by one, they fell into darkness.

"But the elves learned of his treachery and hid the three rings so that they became not tainted with darkness. Despite this, Sauron grew in power until finally the elves knew that they must stop him before he became unstoppable. And so a last alliance of men and elves was formed, the men being of the great race of Numenor.

"Leading this army was the last noble king of that island: Elendil the Tall and his son Isildur. Their host was so great that they nearly overcame the orcs from the fell land of Mordor… until the Dark Lord Sauron himself came down to battle. Elendil and the Elf Lord Gil-Galad stood against him but they were both slain.

"Then Isildur Elendil's son took up his father's broken sword Narsil and slashed off the One Ring that was upon Sauron's finger. The Dark Lord being separated from the greater source of his power fled and his armies fell. Isildur caught the One Ring and Elrond Half-Elven guided him to the fires of Orodruin, Mount Doom, to destroy the Ring in the very place it had been forged.

"Evil may have been destroyed forever that day, but the blood of men is weak and Isildur took the ring for his own. Sauron was diminished but was not truly killed, for he could not be gone while the Ring was still in existence. Isildur was killed in the Disaster of Gladden Fields and the ring was lost… forever, or so we thought."

He sighed then, leaving Arawin time to process it. The man she was descended from allowed evil to endure? Isildur was the reason this war was still being fought, thousands of years later? Was her heritage something to be proud of after all?

"Have you heard it told that way before?"

"I had not heard the part about the Rings." She answered truthfully.

"That is well, for if the story of the One Ring was told commonly it would be our ruin."

"What is this about the Ring that you keep hinting at?"

"The tale does not end there."

Then he told of the Ring being found an Age later by the creature Gollum. He told of the Ring being hidden in the roots of the Misty Mountains with Gollum, until Sauron rose again in the form of the Necromancer and called to It.

He spoke of the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins finding the Ring and keeping it safely for nearly sixty years, and passing it to his heir, Frodo.

"And on Frodo," said Aragorn. "Is where all of our hope rests."

He told her of the journey of the Ringbearer to Rivendell when Gandalf realized what the Ring that the Hobbit kept truly was; then the forming of the Fellowship of the Nine.

"It consisted of Gandalf, myself, Frodo Baggins, his servant and friend Samwise Gamgee, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir son of the Steward of Gondor in Minas Tirith, and Frodo's cousins Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, whom you have already met."

Next he talked of the journey to the Mountains and then to Moria, where Gandalf the Grey fell into darkness fighting Durin's Bane, the Balrog. By the time he came to the Breaking of the Fellowship and the tracking of Merry and Pippin, the sky was beginning to lighten to navy.

Finally he finished with the meeting of Gandalf the White and the group riding to Edoras to free King Theoden from Saruman.

"The rest you know." Aragorn concluded."

Arawin was silent for a long moment. "So Frodo is on his own with Samwise."

"Indeed."

"I wish that the heralds were singing of their deeds! This is heroics beyond any of us—to go into the heart of Mordor. I should never dare to—"But then she remembered that she too would be going to Mordor if she could for some hope of rescuing her sister.

There was quiet for a few moments more until a thought struck her. "You intend to go to Minas Tirith and claim kingship." It was not a question. For the first time, a shadow of doubt flitted across Aragorn's face.

"The road is long from here to there," He said quietly. "But yes, I intend to do so."

"As horrible as it is to consider it—"she winced, the notion still sounded ludicrous. "—I am second in line for the throne. If it would be wise for me to accompany you, I will come."

Aragorn gave a brief smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Gandalf wishes you to come, but he recognizes that if you would prefer to stay, you have the perfect right to."

"I have the choice?" She said, and all of the arguments between her mind and her heart came rushing to the surface.

"Indeed, yes. Gandalf and I have agreed to give you this decision for yourself: to stay here with the women and children or to ride to Gondor when the time comes. However, I shall not hide from you, cousin, what I have learned," Aragorn said, and his grey eyes showed the true weariness of his years.

"You cannot run from destiny. Sooner or later, it will find you, and better to meet it than hide. I chose the latter because I was afraid, but now I see what those wiser than I had tried to tell me. But I do not mean to pressure you. The burden of our lineage is a heavy one to bear."

Arawin was torn between two warring ideals, but even then she noticed something more still in Aragorn's face.

"Have you not finished telling me everything?"

He shifted, and then laughed. "You are shrewd for a teenager."

"I _am _descended from the great Numenoreans." She said, completely deadpan. "Tell me. I am not tired yet and we have until the sun rises."

And as Aragorn studied her, he saw that it was true. Color had returned to her face and her eyes were bright. They no longer had the shattered look from the ride back to Edoras. Though she was not fully healed, it was clear to Aragorn that she was on the mend. However, he knew that emotionally, she would probably never be the same. The thought saddened him, but he prayed to Eru that something good would come of it.

She had handled well the story of the Last Alliance and the Ring. He began the last story. "As we were in the forest of Fangorn, shortly after we found Gandalf again, he gave Legolas, Gimli, and I messages from Lady Galadriel. For myself, the message was," He closed his eyes to remember.

"_Where now are the Dunedain, Elessar, Elessar?  
Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?  
Near is the hour when the lost shall come forth, and the Grey Company ride from the North.  
Dark is the path appointed to thee:  
The dead watch the road that leads to the sea.  
But despair not; the burden is not born alone  
from the ashes of Numenor the Endillas grows."_

They could hear the wind rustling from the trees outside. "That was quite the verse," Arawin said presently, grey eyes stormy in thought. "Have you interpreted much of it?"

"Well, Elessar means Elfstone in Sindarin."

For the first time Arawin noticed the green stone glittering under Aragorn's cloak.

"It is what the elves call me. But what interests me most are the lines at the end."

"'From the ashes of Numenor the Endillas grows.'" Arawin recited. She studied him. "You think it means me."

"Before I met you I had no idea what it could mean. But yes, I do believe it is you. We had no idea of another descendant of Isildur, but 'from the ashes of Numenor' suggested that there was another. Neither Gandalf nor I could think of anyone that those lines would apply to. The Rangers of the North, who I am the Chieftain of, are all descended somewhat from Numenor, but there was none other whose family tree could be directed back to Elendil…" _Until now._

"What does Endillas mean?" Arawin wished she knew Sindarin.

"Flower of the plain. That would make sense since you were raised with the Rohirrim."

"What about, 'The Dead watch the road that leads to the sea?"

Aragorn looked out at the fading stars. "As to that... let us pray what I suspect is wrong."

Suddenly Arawin felt tired. Perhaps her body was finally recognizing that it was late at night… or, now, early morning.

"Sleep." Aragorn said immediately, noticing. "We must take what rest we can get."

She estimated that there was about two hours until dawn, but she supposed that a few hours' worth was better than nothing. "All right, but you need sleep as well."

He gave her a dry smile. "I doubt that will occur tonight." He rose, making the bed creak, and bowed to her. "Sleep well, my lady."

She laughed softly. She certainly didn't feel like a lady. "You too, my lord."

He shut the door behind him.

* * *

She slept lightly. In the hall near her room she heard quiet voices. _I just want to look at it… just one more time._

She turned over, frowning in her sleep. Her left arm burned, and then suddenly her eyes snapped open, a vision of a red eye appearing in her mind.

_He's here._

She threw off her covers, pulling on a jacket as she pulled open the doors to the great hall. The sight that awaited her made her face whiten.

Pippin was writhing on the floor, his eyes closed and his hands on the palantir—_how did it get here?—_like they were glued on. Merry was shaking him.

"Pippin, help! Gandalf! Someone help him!"

Arawin unfroze and rushed to Pippin, ripping his hands off. She was careful not to touch the palantir. Merry started towards it but put out a hand.

"Don't!"

Pippin continued to rock and shriek. The door slammed open, revealing Aragorn and Legolas looking horrified. Aragorn took a blanket and threw it over the palantir, while Gandalf was yelling, "Fool of a Took!"

Arawin held Pippin. "It's okay, it's over, you're all right…"

Gandalf shoved her aside, getting in Pippin's face. The wizard put a hand on the hobbit's head and murmured softly. Pippin's eyes flew open.

"Look at me." Gandalf commanded. Aragorn helped Arawin up.

Pippin cringed. "Forgive me."

"Look at me. What did you see?"

The other pinched his lips together and shook his head, his eyes wide.

Gandalf turned Pippin's head. "What did you see?!"

"A tree. There was… there was a white tree in a courtyard of stone." The hobbit began to shiver more violently. "The city… it was burning."

Aragorn's hand became slack.

"Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw?" Gandalf demanded.

"I saw… I saw _him! _I can hear his voice in my head!"

Arawin shook off Aragorn's hand and went to stand by Pippin. The memory of her experience made her want to hug the hobbit, but Gandalf did not look like he would appreciate the gesture. Instead she put a hand on his shoulder.

Gandalf spared her a brief look and then focused again on Pippin. "And what did you tell him? Speak!"

Pippin stilled. "He asked me my name. I didn't tell him. He hurt me."

Gandalf met Aragorn's eyes, who nodded slowly.

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

Pippin looked at Gandalf, confused. "I… nothing. He didn't ask."

"Are you sure? Peregrin Took, if you are lying to me—"

"I didn't tell him anything! I swear!"

The White Wizard looked at Pippin, his hard gaze making the hobbit wince. Finally Gandalf sighed and released him.

He stood and glanced at Aragorn. "Wake King Theoden. We must council in the Golden Hall."

When they all left, Arawin stayed by Pippin, whose shivering fits had ended but his hands were trembling.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" She said softly. He took a double take.

"How did you—"

"Because it happened to me. Don't worry; it will wear off in a few hours."

He looked at her in a semblance of awe. "When did you look in it?"

"When I was imprisoned in Isengard, Saruman forced me to look in it and answer the Dark Lord's questions. I barely had the strength to resist."

Pippin didn't look like he knew what to say. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Like I told you, the horror wears off. Did you ever hear the phrase curiosity killed the cat?"

"More times than I can recount," Pippin murmured sullenly. She laughed.

"I am not saying to never satisfy your curiosity, merely to _think _before doing so. Valar knows I have learned my lesson many times on that count."

Pippin looked up, interested. "How—?"

At that moment Aragorn entered. "Arawin, you have been summoned."

She was surprised, then remembered that she was descended from Isildur and was allowed to listen into councils. "I'll be back," She told Pippin, and followed Aragorn.

"…we've been strangely fortunate." Gandalf was saying. He paused long enough to give her a brief, sweeping look, and then continued. "Pippin saw in the palantir a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. He now knows that the Heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still, perhaps strength enough to defeat him. Sauron fears this. He would not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before seeing a king return to the throne of men. If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must ride to their aid."

"And tell me," said King Theoden, his face proud. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not ride to ours? What do we owe Gondor?"

Arawin was tempted to put her head in her hands. Aragorn's face hardened. "I will go."

Gandalf's eyes flashed. "No!"

"They must be warned!"

The wizard's eyes moved to Pippin. "They will be."

* * *

_A/N Pretty long chapter this time! Granted, it was because I was explaining stuff you already knew, but you know... I felt like doing it. __Speaking of feeling like doing something... why does getting better at writing have to be so dang HARD? __That said, I'd love it if people gave me tips about what I can do to improve in your reviews._

_Stay safe everyone!_


	18. Eye of the Storm

Arawin was in the stables, saddling her horse.

She felt as if she had barely just arrived, and she was leaving again. Aragorn had given her a choice, but really, there wasn't one. At least not to her. The itch in her palms, the fire in her heart—that feeling wouldn't allow her to stay.

Yes, she would go—if Aragorn did. And Aragorn, it seemed, was giving Theoden King a few days to change his mind before Aragorn rode off into the sunset, with or without the Rohirrim. She turned when she heard the stable doors opening. There was Jakob.

Great.

"Er… hello." He said awkwardly.

Arawin winced. "Hello."

"Your brother said you would be in here."

"You asked Edward about me?" She regretted the sharpness of her tone as he flinched.

"W-Well, yes, because I was, um, worried because you left without saying anything." He said the last part in that extremely fast way of his. "I thought your brother would know."

"It was probably a lucky guess on his part." She dropped the horse's bit on the ground. The Rohirrim trained the horses well and for the most part did not need them. "I left early because…" She hesitated. All of the excuses she had thought up saying to him now sounded hollow. "I… wanted to get to bed early."

Jakob did a quick scan of her face, probably taking in the bags under her eyes. "I see." Fortunately for her, he didn't press. Then he took in her horse's saddle.

"You're leaving?"

"I'm not sure yet." Partially true.

His green eyes pierced her. "You'll... you'll tell me one day, won't you?"

"Tell you what?"

"Why you're different, Arawin, daughter of Arahael." Seeing the expression on her face, he went to clarify. "Not different in a bad way! Just… different. You're not… you're not like other girls."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Well, that was a compliment, she supposed. "Thanks, Jakob. I have to go."

Arawin left him standing there.

* * *

A few hours later, she found Legolas outside of Edoras near the forest, reading.

"_Mae govannen,_ Arawin." He said without looking up.

"How do you do that?" She wondered.

He smirked. "Well, first you find out the name of the person, and then you form the word like this. A-a-a-r-r-a—"

"Yes, thank you, Your Highness." She gave him a dirty look. "I _meant,_ how did you hear me coming from so far away?"

"Ah, I see, my lady. Elves have enhanced hearing, and humans walk exceedingly loudly."

"Must come in useful."

"Yes, it does. So, do you need something, My Lady?"

Arawin hated that title. Legolas hated being called 'Your Highness'. Needless to say, they succeeded in annoying each other fairly well.

"Yes, Your Royally Irritating Highness. I was wondering… would you teach me Sindarin?"

Surprised, Legolas closed his book. "I would have thought that Aragorn could teach you. He grew up in Imladris—"

"Aragorn's… preoccupied." Her words seemed rushed. She inhaled deeply and started again. "He's counselling with King Theoden and Gandalf most times. He looks harried, and I do not want to add more to his duties."

The elf nodded slowly. "In that case, I would be happy to. May I ask why you desire to learn the Silver Tongue?"

She smiled while avoiding his gaze. "Well, I don't really want to be kept in the dark when you and Aragorn have your secret conversations."

He tilted his head. "A valid reason. And I suppose all descendants of Isildur should have a good grasp of our language. Let's begin."

Arawin sat down next to him."

"First: _mellon nin_. Repeat that. Good, but try not to sound like you're swallowing an apple when you say the 'o'. That's better…"

* * *

Arawin stood alone in her room in the palace, trying to decide what to bring if—_when_—they left for Gondor. Gandalf had taken Pippin to Minas Tirith to help ward off the first attack, leaving everyone else in Edoras.

Aragorn was restless to leave. Whenever she Arawin tried to talk to him, he waved her off. She knew that it wasn't meant to be offensive. The future king probably had a lot on his mind. And, after all, she was used to being waved off.

The dull ache in her chest pricked at her as she looked around her temporary room. She had so few possessions—the clothes on her back were the ones she had worn on her horse the day she and her sister had ridden to Rohan's capital city to warn the King. That seemed like weeks ago.

Probably because it had been.

She wondered if it was possible for her life to change any more than it already had, short of donning a princess tiara and ruling a kingdom.

Oh, hold on… if all went well, that would be exactly what she was doing, short of ruling a kingdom, thank goodness for that. The people would probably hold a mutiny a few days into her rule.

She would much rather stay in the torn up clothes she was currently wearing, thanks. Luckily for her, it was very likely that Sauron was going to win and enslave all of the West.

But at least she wouldn't have to wear a dress, though.

Gazing vacantly out of her window, something caught her eye. In sharp contrast against the snowy peaks of the mountains to the south, a bright orange flame was burning.

The Beacon of Halfirien was lit.

Practically flying out the door, Arawin rushed into the great hall a moment apart from Aragorn's own entrance. Theoden King looked up from a map, surprised. Eowyn moved to Eomer's shoulder.

"The fires of Minas Tirith are lit," said Aragorn sharply. "Gondor calls for aid."

The silence that followed seemed oppressive as all eyes turned to the King.

Theoden raised his chin. "And Rohan will answer."

Exhaling in unison with Aragorn, she felt a kind of electric thrill run up her spine. _And so the real war begins._

* * *

_A/N I'm so sorry about how short this is, also sorry for the filler chapter. _

_ Also I just finished reading the whole Inheritance Cycle! If any readers are a member of that fandom, review and tell me about how horrible you think that ending of the last book is! Or why you think it's good, whatever._

_I'd love some reviews from you guys if you have the time… I'm starving for constructive criticism over here!_

_Stay safe everyone!_


	19. Light Fades

_A tall mountain, stark against the dusty blue sky. At the foot, a stone door with runes inscribed upon the top that she could somehow read: the way is shut._

_A tall grim woman with dark hair and deep eyes set a baby near a stream in the hollow of a tree. The baby didn't cry, just blinked up at the woman. _

"_I'll come back for you, iel nin," She whispered. "Valar willing, I will." _

_The scene changed. Arawin was standing in a dark glade and in the center stood a black tree, its bark cracked and its leaves withered. Then Jakob's voice, "You'll tell me, won't you?"_

_And then she is in Orthanc again, Saruman smiling down at her as she writhed on the floor. "Come now, my dear, are you not stronger than this? The blood of Westernesse has dwindled over the ages, I see."_

_She struggled to form words to say something, until suddenly the red sun outside the window was a great scarlet eye, its gaze boring into her soul. _

Arawin jerked awake, clutching her left forearm as it burned like fire. Gritting her teeth, she threw off her covers; her tent suddenly seemed stifling. Fastening on a cloak, she pulled her sword out of its scabbard, working her arms furiously.

Storming out of her tent, she located a tree and sliced her blade through the air towards it. Stopping just in time, she reversed direction. Her arms throbbed, and checking it, she discovered that she had reopened a long slice from the Battle of the Hornburg. Exhaling loudly, she decided that she had better things to do than fretting about a cut.

She tried an underhand cut for the first time, but she miscalculated the weight of the sword tip and, typical of her luck, it ended up embedded into the tree.

"You know, that will dull your blade," a mild voice behind her remarked.

Arawin swore and pulled her sword out of the tree. She turned to see Eowyn, her white clothes practically glowing in the moonlight.

"Lady Eowyn, please don't sneak up on my like that," said Arawin warily.

"You will have to teach me that curse sometime, and don't call me Lady or you'll find that our next practice match is less casual."

Arawin rubbed her sword with the cloth of her cloak and sighed inwardly as she looked at the scratches in it. They were low on weapons already. "All right, Eowyn, please don't sneak up on me like that."

She laughed restrainedly, but as they talked quietly, Arawin felt like something was off. Eowyn seemed more distant than usual. She was very skilled at hiding her emotions, but Arawin was good at reading them. When Arawin mentioned dancing with Jakob, a shadow moved across Eowyn's face that she was too slow to hide.

"All right, enough." Arawin said finally. "What's wrong? You're being… strange."

Eowyn surveyed Arawin, the Lady of the Mark's eyes burning with an emotion that Arawin couldn't quite decipher. "You've changed much since we last met."

_I should hope so._

"You were then just a slight girl lying in our hospital bed, and now look at you…" She breathed out quietly. "Off to fight with Lord Aragorn."

Arawin's eyes creased. Eowyn sounded strangely bitter. "Eowyn… are you… angry at me?"

"Of course not," Eowyn said. Arawin studied her.

"Tell me so I'm not left wondering." Arawin tried to sound uncaring, but her stomach was churning. What had she done, what was she doing, to leave Eowyn angry at her?

Eowyn worked her mouth, clearly trying and failing to control herself. "You have been given the chance to ride out with—with the men, just because of your ancestry. You haven't been trained for that, you are just a child—and yet they allow you to go. And myself, a shieldmaiden, I have been training my whole life for an opportunity such as this, and what does my brother say? War is men's province, Eowyn.

"I am told to stay with the woman and children when I could best more than half of the Rohirrim in fair battle. If I do not go, will anyone remember me? Shall I be simply another name inscribed on a crumbling tombstone, never to see the light of the sun? _What is wrong with me_?" Eowyn took a shaky breath.

After her outburst, they were both quiet for a moment. Arawin swallowed her hurt feelings to deal with later. Her friend needed her, and yet… "Eowyn, I didn't choose to be captured."

"I _know_ that!" Eowyn flung her arms over her head as if trying to protect herself from some invisible enemy. Arawin took a step back.

"But… you can ride out with the Riddermark if you chose to, couldn't you?" Arawin said in confusion, feeling like she was missing something.

Eowyn let out a little sob of frustration and pain. "Yes, but then I wouldn't be with—"She cut herself off, but it was too late, and Arawin couldn't believe that it had taken her this long to realize because oh.

_Oh._

"It's Aragorn," Arawin realized. Eowyn was frozen. "All this time it's been Aragorn, hasn't it?"

Eowyn took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, building the walls around her soul back up after they had briefly been taking away. All the spirit drained out of her. "I… Arawin, I have no right to ask anything of you, especially after what I've said, but—"

"I swear not to tell him," said Arawin gently. "But, Eowyn, I'm afraid that he already knows."

"Then why won't he—?" She waved a hand helplessly.

Arawin hesitated, the conversation the night after the feast returning to her mind. "I believe that he has already given his heart to another_," Arwen Undomiel_, he had called her, and she remembered how his voice had changed; a strange mix of longing and fear.

"But he told me that she was sailing away to the Undying Lands."

If that was the case, then Arawin was perplexed as to why Aragorn was being so strange. Perhaps he felt it would be an insult to his elven love? Whatever the case, Arawin knew that her cousin would never intentionally hurt anyone, especially Eowyn, and told her so.

Eowyn laughed humorlessly. "I am grateful to you for saying so." She said quietly.

Arawin winced. "Eowyn, can you not ride with your brother?"

She looked down. "I do not leave without my lord's permission."

"_Why?"_

"Because staying is my duty." She sounded so broken Arawin felt her heart breaking for her friend.

Eowyn began to walk away.

"Eowyn…"

She turned.

"I believe you will find what you're looking for."

"Will I?" She said hopelessly. "How do you know?"

"Because I don't think the Valar would be so cruel as to fail to reward someone so valiant."

Eowyn smiled sadly. "Thank you, Arawin. I must go."

When Arawin was sure that Eowyn had left, Arawin sighed loudly. She had ignored her friend's cutting words, but now they came back like the tide.

The words had hurt her worse than she would have liked to admit. She sympathized with Eowyn. She couldn't imagine how difficult her life had been. But at least Eowyn had never had to wonder when her next meal would be.

_Stop being petty!_ She told herself, disgusted._ You wanted this, didn't you?_

Annoyed and knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep again unless she wanted more nightmares, she drew her sword again. Both arms screamed at her.

_Shut it._

At least sparring was something she could control.

* * *

The days passed on the road, and more joined Rohan's army, but still all seemed unsatisfied with the amount. They said that Mordor's army numbered in the tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, while they had a mere two thousand at the most. They said that their cause was doomed; they said that their king and the Ranger, Aragorn, were leading them into certain death-and that Dunedain girl, why was she here?

And Arawin, well… she did her best to ignore the rumors, the grumblings that they all partook in. She tried to keep her own in her head, because Aragorn didn't need her moans. But when the night fell, and she was alone with only her mind for company, those thoughts crowded her head until she wanted to scream.

What in the world were they doing? What hope was there, really?

With every day that passed, the feeble answers her brain threw back sounded even more fragile.

And Aragorn tried to hide it, he tried to stay strong for the troops, but sometimes when he thought no one was watching, the strain showed. Everyone's strength was running thin. Arawin almost wished the battle would come sooner-anything was better than this _waiting._

Time crawled, and every night as the sun finally passed under the horizon, she checked off a day in her mental calendar and wondered what that night's nightmares would be. By the third day, she decided that if she didn't have something to do she would go insane.

That morning she approached Aragorn.

"_Mae g'ovannen,"_ She said by way of greeting.

Satisfying surprise came across his face. "You are learning Sindarin?"

"_Athon,_ but I am not close to fluent."

He smiled, albeit a little distractedly. "I am glad."

"I was going to ask you if you could give me lessons."

"In Sindarin?"

"Certainly not. Legolas is, I am sure, a better teacher than you. No, I have had only informal training and I want lessons in swordplay." _Since that seems to be the only thing I'm good for, I may as well be the best. _

"Ah…" His grey eyes looked too knowing for her liking. "I will."

"You will?" She hadn't thought he would agree so easily.

"Yes. You should receive professional training."

"And that is you?" She tilted her head teasingly.

He smirked. "Arawin, I am over eighty years old and have been Chieftain over the Rangers of the North for more than half that. I very much doubt that there are many mortal Men in Middle Earth that could teach you better."

"If you say so, my Lord." Arawin smiled the first true smile she had in many days, and the tightness in her chest lifted for a moment.

And so the lessons began. At first it was fine, Arawin was happy with learning more. But she rapidly became frustrated with herself. She was under the impression she was good at sparring, but she quickly realized that she had so much to learn, both in improving her technique and in experience.

"You move too sloppily," Aragorn said, his sympathetic gaze doing little to improve the sting of his words. "You are used to overcoming your opponents by putting all of your energy into one stab. This is useful for fighting with one common orc, but the moment you are pitted against a competent enemy they will strike you down in three hits. You need to learn to think of fighting like you would of chess: strategically. Always keep your best moves in reserve until you really need them."

Arawin wiped sweat off her brow. "When we first met, you said I had natural talent."

"You do. You are one of the most natural learners I have ever instructed, but unfortunately, natural talent does not get you anywhere if you do nothing with it."

She sighed quietly, and her cousin looked at her with pity. "I am sorry if I am being harsh, but I'm afraid that the Dunedain are held to a higher standard than most." He put his sword in a ready position. "Again."

Slamming the lid shut on her anger, Arawin took a breath and raised her blade.

And yes, logically, she knew that she wasn't going to be perfect in a few days, but every time she was lying on the on the ground again, disarmed, because of a movement that should have been easy, her self-control slipped even further. She had learned early on that her anger could get her into trouble, and she had learned to control it... for the most part. But these days she knew that she was close to the edge, and a push could send her over.

In one lesson where she let her mind wander too far, a sharp jab from the flat of Aragorn's blade brought her firmly and painfully back to reality. "You must pay attention," he scolded her. "In a battle, your opponent is not going to kindly wait for you to stop daydreaming." He slapped her with the flat of his blade, forcing her to raise her own. "No, he will cut you to pieces and you will never see the light of day again."

She glanced up at the dark sky and rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, but at least I have the opportunity to learn and I'm not entering into the Halls of Mandos after the battle of Hornburg." The implication was clear to Aragorn, and he frowned at her.

"This is no joke, Arawin."

"Cousin, I am just trying to lighten the mood." A tide of annoyance flooded up. He was treating her like a child. She _hated_ it when he treated her like a child. "Perhaps you should stop focusing on my jokes and start trying to bring up the morale of the men who don't trust in your leadership!"

She knew instantly that she had gone too far, but her pride was stirred and she would not back down.

Aragorn took a step back and his eyes glinted. "Perhaps you shouldn't be confronting me about this right now." The warning in his voice was clear, and somehow more terrifying than Saruman's shouting. But Arawin, for better or worse, had a lot of bravery.

She opened her mouth to reply, but he held out a hand at started pacing back and forth. "We do not have time for this. I am here to instruct you, Arawin, and that's what I'm doing. When you're in a battle, you have to be completely aware of what is happening or you are going to be killed. Are you aware of that?"

"Of course I'm-"

"What just happened was inexcusable. Your mind was elsewhere, and in a fight you must be in the moment. As for why I was angry about your jest, it is because, although I know that humor can be useful tool for distracting yourself, that is exactly where I do not want your head to be. This isn't playtime where you go and hit swords with your friends and you both come home. This is _life_ or _death_."

Somehow that brutal honesty was worse than any passive aggressiveness, and the slowly mending glass inside her cracked again.

"Do you think I do not _know_ that? You really believe that I think this is just a game? The moment I saw my best friend's dead body blackened and burned on the ground, I knew that. I am not an idiot, Aragorn, although everyone on Middle Earth seems to think so!"

"That is not what I meant and you know-"

"Is that so? Then _perhaps_ His Majesty needs to speak what he means."

"War is dangerous, Arawin, and-"

She let out a humorless laugh. "Really? War is dangerous? Who would have guessed?"

"-And-listen to me!-If you don't pay attention, you'll get yourself killed!"

Then she was back on the defensive again. "It was only a practice bout."

"You practice as you_ do, _Arawin! If you don't take this seriously, you are doomed. The odds are hope-the odds are not in our favor in the first place."

Arawin understood just fine what he had been about to say. "So that's it, then? We are all just going to die? There's no hope?"

Aragorn seemed to immediately realize he had said something he shouldn't have. "Lower your voice-"

"If there's no hope, than what are we fighting for?"

"_Lower. Your. Voice_!"

That was all the answer she needed. Her heart sank, and the part of her brain that tried to hold her back screamed _Shut up before you ruin something else, _but it was too late and the words were out of her mouth. "Some leader."

Aragorn paled considerably. "You have no idea what I've had to do to get where I am, daughter of Arahael-"

"Then _lead_! Lead, and stop hiding from your destiny!"

Aragorn closed his eyes. "Arawin, you are acting like a child. You of all people should know how it feels to be called inferior."

With that sentence, all the fight drained out of her, and her words were thrown back at her with more effectiveness than any lecture could do.

_Valar curse you, you've done it again._

"I... I didn't mean..."

"Perhaps you should start saying what you mean, then. We are done for today."

Breathing felt difficult as Aragorn walked away. Though she was alone, she felt as if a thousand disapproving faces were staring down at her.

Unsure of what else to do, she made her way slowly back to her tent and wished she was anyone else.

* * *

_A/N So were the fights OOC? Too angsty? Do you hate to break it to me, but you really don't care about Arawin's feelings and would like to move right along to Paths of the Dead? Do you have no idea why you clicked on this story because you were originally doing your homework and then this happened?_

_I feel you. Originally I thought this story should be twenty chapters max. And then my brain said, LOL NOT GONNA HAPPEN. As for why you're not doing your homework... don't ask me._

_BE KIND AND LEAVE A REVIEW_

_THANKS_

_School has begun and I am extremely busy, which may-oh who am I kidding it WILL-make it difficult to update. Also I'm going to start consistently working on an original story of mine.I have no excuses even though I'm making them! One last plead for reviews, and then..._

_Shout out to reviewers:_

_ro781727 (you're good! Thanks for your awesome reviews that let me know someone's reading this)_  
_Lil'Sparrow7 (AIR-a-win. Yeah when I first got the name of the main character I panicked because my friend was like 'isn't Aragorn's girlfriend named that' and I was like 'oh crud' but they're different, who knew! Thanks for your review!)_  
_PrettyRecklessLaura (yeah, um, sorry about that, cuz you may have to. Thanks for your review though :))_


	20. I Give Hope to Men

That night, her nightmares were worse than ever.

She relived Adam's death and her torture at Isengard, all with a burning eye in the background. She awoke bleary-eyed with exhaustion, but like always, she knew it wouldn't be possible to sleep again.

Still, the dreams had almost been a welcome respite from the crushing, eddying guilt that flowed in her chest.

She had hurt Aragorn. The one person she could count on, the one person who had believed in her, and how had she repaid him?

It had been her pride—her unsuccessfully held back pride. Days—weeks—of scorning and ridicule and disbelief from the Rohirrim about her heritage. Before she had been able to hold her head high, but now… now she didn't even have it in her to argue.

She _was_ a child.

Seventeen winters—what was that, against Aragorn's eighty-six? What was that, even, against the average age of twenty five among their army? She didn't deserve her title, and she hadn't earned it. She was no better than the privileged nobles she used to mock.

How could she show her face outside that tent again, knowing what she had said?

She might as well go back to the smoldering ashes of the Westfold to see if she could do any more good there.

But there was no point in delusions. She _was_ here, halfway to a cold white city she'd only heard about in stories with an army of seven thousand, off to destroy an opposing force of at least twenty. She couldn't very well run back to Edoras and say she had changed her mind. She had _chosen_ this… but more than that, going back would prove them all right.

She couldn't very well just sit there in her tent. She was trapped here the same as everyone else, and she may as well just suck it up along with them.

As tempting as her bedroll looked, the sun was rising, and if she wanted to get food—though she didn't feel she deserved any—she needed to get up.

She dragged herself off to morning muster, grateful for the light distraction work gave her from the gnawing ache in her stomach, though she didn't think that that particular pain was from hunger. When she started to eat, the whispers around her started again. She always ate away from the rest of the soldiers for more reasons than one, but today she suspected that she would hear them from wherever she was sitting.

It was a small camp, after all, and word had probably gotten around. Now when she heard their taunts, the flame didn't roar—the ice thickened.

Eventually her mind arrived at a conclusion. The only thing that might make this better was to apologize.

A younger Arawin would have balked. _Apologize?_ She would say. _I _meant _what I _said_!_

But today's Arawin was just… tired.

Tired of the fighting, tired of the war, tired of all the death and the pain. At least if she apologized she would know that she tried.

It wasn't like she had anything to do, after all. She was a strange mix of soldier and civilian, lady and commoner. But that wasn't new. She was pretty much used to being the exception.

She didn't have any _duties_ except to stay alive in case Aragorn didn't, which she found almost funny. She was much more likely to die on the battlefield than Aragorn.

Now that she actually _wanted _to find him, it seemed ridiculously difficult. She brought herself to ask around the camp, and every place she was led to told her that she had just missed him. She didn't think he was avoiding her—that was too petty for him—but he probably wasn't exactly seeking he rout.

Finally she saw him, sitting on a bench facing a narrow path into a mountain. She stood near him, trying to find words, but for once, words didn't come.

He nodded to her. "Arawin."

She nodded back, her stomach rolling from the tension in the air. She could face down orcs without flinching, but_ this_ confrontation was almost more than her courage could handle. She took a breath and steeled herself before the words jumped back down into her throat and she left.

"Aragorn, I—I need to apologize for what I said yesterday. It was stupid and rude, and I was being horribly childish. I hurt you and I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything that I said. Is there anything I can do to show my apology?

Aragorn considered that for a moment. "Apology accepted."

She sighed in relief.

"But there is something you could do."

Immediately her heart shot up to her throat. "Yes?"

"Climb to the top of one of those trees and yell for the entire camp to hear that you're going to join the Wild Men."

Aragorn's face was so somber that it took a moment for Arawin to realize what he'd said. Her face must have been priceless, because he burst out laughing.

She was exceedingly confused about how to react. "Uh, Aragorn—"He could barely hear her over the sound of his laughter.

"Oh, _Eru_, your face—"

"Um..."

He finally regained control of himself. "I'm sorry, it was just you were so serious, and—"

"_You're_ sorry!" She fell down on to the seat next to him. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

He looked serious again. "That's good. I would have been concerned if you hadn't been."

"What do you—"

"Arawin, yesterday? That was a natural reaction to everything that has happened-that _is_ happening. I don't know if you have noticed, but you've been through rather a lot lately."

She frowned. "But that still—"

"Of course it does not excuse what you said," he said, and a shadow of pain flitted past his face. "the important thing is that you apologized. And, Arawin, being descended from Isildur still gives you the right to be human. And beyond that—you're also only a human of seventeen years."

They sat there for a moment, Arawin still feeling that this all was too good to be true—but for once, she was more than happy to be called a child.

They sat under the noon sun, the growing leaves on the trees stark against the melting snow in the peaks. For a moment they could pretend that there was no war and no darkness.

Aragorn called out, "_Ettul,_ Legolas_. _You have been in that tree for long enough."

The leaves in the tree above them rustled slightly, and the wood-elf dropped lightly to the ground in front of them, smiling. "So, I take it you two have made up, Estel?" He said with an air of innocence that fooled no one.

"So I take it you just happened to climb the tree directly above us?" Aragorn countered.

Legolas shrugged noncommittally. "Well, have you?"

"Of course we are." Aragorn said.

Arawin looked at Legolas quizzically. "So you're not angry with me either?"

The elf waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal. "About that? I am surprised that you held out as long as you did. Aragorn sulked for roughly a week after Lord Elrond told him his ancestry."

Aragorn raised his eyes to the heavens. "_Mellon nin,_ you were not there. Nor had we met."

"Yes, well," Legolas's eyes glinted eyes glinted mischievously. "I do hear stories. And, Arawin, he received the news under much less stressful situations.

The tension in her shoulders started to unknit, and a small, uncertain smile spread up her face. "Well," She said. "I'll be sure to offend the future king of the land quicker next time."

It was notable that Aragorn's smile faded somewhat at the words 'future king', but both Legolas and Arawin pretended not to notice.

"We may have run out of kings," Aragorn said thoughtfully.

She blushed slightly as she remembered her first morning in King Theoden's Hall.

"Ah, Estel, she hasn't met Lord Denethor yet." Legolas put in.

"It might be best if we put off that meeting for as long as possible," Aragorn mused, "Otherwise we may start a war."

"I can't wait to meet him." Arawin muttered.

The horn sounded, signaling that the army was ready to move out. "We had better get going." Legolas said, and darted back towards the camp.

_Aragorn_

His dreams were restless, as they were most nights. It was almost a relief when his finely tuned senses waked him.

He heard the door to the tent being opened and his hand automatically snapped to the Elven dagger at his side. He relaxed slightly when he saw that it was a Rohirrim guard, but he remained tense. There could be any number of reasons why a guard would wake him at this hour.

"Sir?" The soldier said hesitantly. "Theoden King awaits you."

Aragorn nodded at him and threw a cloak around him, wondering what Theoden wanted. If it was a question about their arrival at Minas Tirith, it could just as well be discussed in the daytime.

He entered the king's tent, and saw Theoden and a strangely familiar robed figure.

"I take my leave." Theoden said gruffly, and did so. Aragorn was left alone with the man, assuming it _was_ a man.

He approached cautiously, his mind whirling with a number of possibilities, but all those were thrown in the dust when the figure removed his hood and revealed the High Elf Elrond.

Aragorn immediately straightened, his face calm, which served to mask the way his thoughts were spiraling. He could think of only a few reasons that Elrond would be here, and none of them were good. He recalled his dreams, and was seized with a sudden fear that they had been a prediction.

Aragorn bowed. "My lord Elrond."

Elrond nodded. "Aragorn."

"Why have you come?"

The elf's jaw went taught. "I come on behalf of one who I love." He said evenly, but Aragorn had known Elrond long enough that he could see the suppressed anguish on his face. "Arwen is dying."

Aragorn's hand flew to the Evenstar Pendant, wanting to rip it off his chest, feeling the pulsing of his heart and wishing he could stem his emotions. He inhaled through his nose. "There was no need to travel all this way to tell me, my Lord."

Elrond jerked his head as if scaring off an irksome fly. "Aragorn, use your senses. I do not approve of your relationship, but you bring her joy, and she wished me to tell her. My love is not enough for her, and has not been for many years now.

"Regardless, she will not long survive the evil that now spreads from Mordor. The light of the Evenstar is failing, and as Sauron's power grows, her strength wanes. Arwen's life is now tied to the fate of the ring. The Shadow is upon us, Aragorn. The end is nearing."

Aragorn could feel his face hardening. Reflexively, he said, "It will not be our end, but his."

Arawin's words echoed in his head. _So there's no hope? _

He dismissed it. He was having a hard enough time convincing himself without those words—part of the reason it had hurt so much.

Elrond's eyes pierced him, and Aragorn had the uneasy feeling that the elf new a lot more than he was letting on.

Finally he said. "You ride to war, but not to victory. Sauron's armies march to Minas Tirith, this you know." He paused.

"In secret he sends another force that will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair Ships sail from the south. They will be in the city in two days."

Aragorn closed his eyes. He could see it. He could see what a devastating attack that would be, how the few men that would be left would fall. All his years fighting against this darkness showed him served him to envision it perfectly.

Elrond studied him. It was at those moments that Aragorn could see how old the elf truly was—those eyes had seen civilizations rise and fall, the same way that theirs was about to.

"You're outnumbered, Aragorn." Elrond said softly but firmly. "You need more men."

"Do you think I do not know that?" Aragorn said, his eyes flicking open. "I have looked for every possibility—there are none." Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. There _was_ a way, but it was so dangerous and insane that he had dismissed it as soon as he thought of it. He feared that this was why Elrond had come.

The elf lord took a breath. "There are those who dwell in the mountains."

Aragorn shook his head in dismissal. "Murderers… traitors! You would call upon them to fight? They believe in _nothing, _they answer to no one—"

"I would not call upon them to fight." Elrond said calmly, his expression intense. "And they would answer to _you_—the true king of Gondor."

He swept aside his cloak and placed a long sword on the table… a sword that Aragorn immediately recognized from years staring at a particular statue at Rivendell.

"Andúril, Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil."

The Dunedain looked up at the elf with something like awe. "You reforged it?"

Elrond nodded slowly. "'Renewed shall be blade that was broken.'" He repeated the line that Bilbo had written for him all those ages ago.

Aragorn drew the sword from its sheath. The blade reflected the light from the lanterns and shone as he ran his finger up the blade, careful not to cut himself. _Still sharp. _ "Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil." He breathed. "The sword that was broken will return to Minas Tirith."

Elrond looked at him, and Aragorn knew that the elf could see the mistakes of his forefather, the mistake that Aragorn could make at any moment.

"The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt road."

Aragorn could feel that power singing to him, the power that he had ran from all his life, fearing that the mistakes of the past would be repeated. "I cannot be king."

"You can. There is _no _other." Elrond glared at him.

Aragorn had a quick intake of breath. "My Lord, do you know about the girl, Arawin?"

Elrond exhaled quietly. "I do. She is skilled, yes, but just a child. Essentially, there is no other that will take your place. This is _foolishness_, Aragorn. You have let fear control you for too long. _Onen i-Estel Edain." _

Aragorn looked at him, remembering his mother's words and her insistence towards his duty. He wondered if it was purposeful that Elrond reminded him in that way._ I give hope to men._

"_U-chebin estil anim_." Aragorn finished. _I keep none for myself._

Elrond sighed. "Send in the girl."

Aragorn knew better than to ask why. "Yes, my Lord." He picked up the sword and the sheath and left the tent.

* * *

_Elvish Translations:_

_Ettul: Come out_

_Mellon nin: My friend_

_Onen i-Estel Edain: I give hope to men_

_U-chebin estil anim: I keep none for myself_

* * *

_A/N In which the author apologizes for the very long wait, but let's face it, who's surprised?_

_I was originally planning to go farther to Elrond's meeting with Arawin (speaking of which, what do you think they're gonna talk about?) but I kinda wanted to post today. Also I'm starting NaNoWriMo (Where you write 50,000 words in a month for those who don't know) so that'll take up a bunch of my time once we get to November, so I'm planning to get out as many chapters as possible. _

_Reviews are very much appreciated if you would take the time to do so!_

_ON TO THE REVIEWER WALL_

_ro781727 (thank you for being honest, that's all I ever ask. I have an explanation for you if you'd like to read it. __Firstly, remember that Arawin is, in fact, seventeen—which means that she's a teenager. Teenage girls can be dramatic sometimes! I purposely made her that age, and I don't want her acting like some perfect teenager because there are no perfect teenagers, or perfect people in general. One thing that I'm really working on is letting my characters have obvious flaws, so I was just playing with that in last chapter. But if you think I went too far to the opposite end and made her too unsympathetic, then I respect your opinion. Also, Arawin's having a pretty cruddy time lately. Basically her entire family is dead, and she's super stressed out, so she took that out on Aragorn. At least that's my reasoning. Thank you so much for your review!__)_

_PrettyRecklessLaura (Thanks!)_

_RangeroftheSouth (Wow, thank you that means so much to me right now. I got some rude reviews about what I did so thank you so much!)_

_Kit (Thank you SO much I'm so glad you liked it)_

_JediGemini (Thanks for telling me, I was rewriting some stuff and I must have used the wrong documents)_


	21. Who Lives, Who Dies Who Tells Your Story

Arawin was a light sleeper, so she woke up instantly when the tent door slid open. Her hands flew to her dagger, but she relaxed when she saw it was just Aragorn. But what was Aragorn doing in her tent at this hour?

She sat up blearily. "Is something happening?"

"Come," He said. The light was dark and she couldn't see his expression, but he seemed grim. She didn't question him at first, however. He had that tone in his voice, and when he used it—intentionally or not—people listened.

She threw a cloak around herself and wrapped her baldric and sheath around her waist. Her insides burning with curiosity, she could barely wait until they were outside to ask, "Aragorn, why—?"

"Listen to me carefully," He said in a low voice. "You are about to meet Elrond Half-Elven, one of the oldest and highest elves still residing Middle-Earth, second only to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. He has come from the west to see us both. Be respectful."

She was silent, trying to process everything that he had said. In the shadowy light of the passing sentries' torches, she saw a new, long sword, on her cousin's belt. "That sword looks well-made. Where did you get it?"

A cloud passed over the moon, shading Aragorn's face. "Some things should be discussed in daylight."

They entered King Theoden's tent, but standing in it was not the king.

Aragorn bowed to the figure standing before there. Arawin had never seen him bow to anyone before, and this above everything he had told her convinced her of Elrond's status.

"My Lord," said Aragorn. "This is Arawin."

No title, just her name. It would have been strange to be called a lady in any case. Elrond nodded to the Ranger. "You may leave."

Aragorn turned and left, and she was alone.

Arawin curtsied unsteadily—she had never really learned how—and looked the elf over.

He had pointed ears, like all of his kind, and the same ageless face that could have been twenty, fifty, or possibly three millennia. It was only his eyes that gave away his true age, as well as his power.

He was studying her as well—his grey eyes scanning her in a way that made her feel like she was an insect. She wasn't altogether sure about how she felt about this elf.

Finally, he spoke. "You were not supposed to exist."

_Well, all right then. _She swallowed back a snappy reply. She rose from her curtsy.

"Er… my Lord?"

His gaze flicked away from her. "It had been always Aragorn—the only heir to the throne. And then you came… the unknown factor none of us expected."

"I did not wish for Isildur to be my ancestor," She said evenly.

"Mhm." He rubbed a ring on his hand, studying her still more closely, like he was looking for something in her. "Ask it."

"What?"

"You have a question. Ask."

Did her emotions really show so clearly on her face? "When you speak of _us…_"

"I mean the Lady Galadriel and I."

She had a sharp intake of breath. "You mean that she was—"She hesitated.

Once more, he seemed to read her mind. "Really there, in that tower with you."

Despite herself, a smile played at her lips. "Do you really see my thoughts so easily, my Lord?"

He didn't smile, but his eyes seemed to lift up at the corners. "You are so much like Estel—that is to say, Aragorn. You think yourself skilled at hiding your feelings, but neither of you have learned to shutter your eyes. It all comes out through there."

She moistened her lips. "Estel. Why do you call him that?"

Elrond looked at the flickering flame inside the lantern. "Aragorn lived under my care for the first twenty-one years of his life, in Imadris—Rivendell—in your tongue. It had long been tradition that the heir of Isildur would live in the home of the elves. Had the Valar designed it, we would have done the same for you."

Arawin caught her breath at the idea, but she noticed that he hadn't really answered her question.

"However," The elf said. "I think there was a reason your childhood was the way it was."

"Why is that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it… brought you closer to the world of men. Perhaps you can see its gifts as well as its faults."

"It does have many of those."

This time, Elrond didn't crack a smile. "Indeed."

There was a deafening silence for a few moments. "Why did you summon me, really?" Arawin asked presently.

"I suppose I was curious. Curious to see what this daughter of kings was like." He locked eyes with her. "You're very much like Aragorn. That is certain."

"And… is that a good thing?"

"I believe so… in some ways. Aragorn sees himself in you as well. I do not think that he himself knows how he feels about this." His eyes were somber. "You two need each other. Remember that."

She nodded uncertainly. "I will."

"He's been alone his entire life. I suppose it's a good thing to have someone else who shares his burden—for the throne _is _a burden, Arawin, something I think you have begun to discover. For that reason, Sauron will try to draw you apart. He excels at creating dissension."

She rubbed her locket and she could feel her pulse beating faster. He noticed the motion.

"That is a very old object, Arawin."

"Yes."

"Guard it."

"I will. I have."

He looked weary. "One more thing." He said, and his grey eyes pierced her. "At Isengard, you made a choice. Why?"

Arawin hesitated. "Well, I knew I wouldn't make a very good Queen."

He raised his eyebrows, knowing that that wasn't the real reason.

She swallowed. Why was she reluctant to say it? Maybe because it did no good, in the end? "I… I knew that I would betray everyone who ever cared for me, and I couldn't bear it."

"Even at the cost of your sister?" Elrond said quietly.

Arawin flinched. "So she is really…"

"I'm afraid so. Saruman gave the order during the Siege of Isengard." She didn't ask how he knew.

"I never would have thought—"

"It does not matter," He said a tad sharply. "It matters the choice you made. Would you do it again, knowing what would happen?"

Would she? She tasted blood and realized that she had bitten her lip harder than she had intended. "Y-Yes. Yes, I would." She said softly. Crushing shame weighed her chest.

"Arawin."

Her name from Elrond raised her eyes.

"Your sister's death was not your fault. You have no control over who lives _or_ who dies. You need to accept that."

"What if I choose not to accept it?" She shot back.

His expression was uncompromising, but somehow sorrowful. "Aragorn never has, either."

Arawin rubbed her arms, and though her throat burned, she was grateful to finally know for certain that her younger sibling was in the Halls of Mandos. "Thank you."

He nodded a bit sharply. "You may go."

She turned and left the tent. That night was the first in weeks that she slept with no nightmares.

* * *

The wooden arrow that she was shooting slammed into a tree. The problem was, she hadn't been aiming at the tree.

"Perhaps I should tell you to focus on that shrub," said Legolas thoughtfully, indicating the bush about ten feet away from the target. "Then you may hit what you're aiming at."

Arawin muttered some colorful words and went to retrieve her arrow.

"Also, you should probably spend less time with Gimli," He added. "I'm not sure that he's teaching you good manners."

"Well, your Highness, perhaps you should lecture Aragorn as well. I've heard what he says when he thinks I'm not listening, and they're not exactly fit for a king," She retorted. "He tends to forget I know Rohirric."

"All right, your Ladyship, but you cannot exactly blame him. You do not look very Rohirric, either."

"I'm very aware of that." She said ruefully. She blew a strand of dark hair out of her face. "Aragorn used to be called Estel, right?"

Legolas looked at her curiously. "Yes, but… how did you know that?"

She traced the lines in the wood of her bow. "You know that Lord Elrond came to see Aragorn last night."

"Yes."

"He asked to see me, as well, and he said some things about him."

"Ah." Legolas' face was once again serious. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," She said, turning her face away. "Why would I not be?"

"Elrond sees much. He has the gift of foresight, and he is very careful with who he reveals his visions to. If he told you something, then it was likely very important, but also probably not very pleasant for you." _The Dark Lord excels at creating dissension, _she remembered.

"He told me that my sister is dead."

Legolas was silent. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said, trying to convince herself as well as the elf. "I already knew she most likely was."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"It's all right." She repeated, though they both knew it wasn't. To break the silence, she picked up the bow again.

"So what am I doing wrong?"

Legolas stood and inspected her stance. "Your legs are too far apart."

She brought them closer.

"Too close. Make them even with your shoulders. Your hand is too near to your face, and you bounce a little when you release so the arrow flies in the wrong way. You're also too tense, and you use your arms instead of your shoulders to draw."

Arawin raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps I should rephrase my question," she said drily. "What am I _not _doing wrong?"

He didn't answer and told her to pull the bow to full draw. She shook her head and did as he asked, her arms shaking from the strain.

"Think as if you're pulling your shoulder blades closer together." Legolas advised. She did so, and found that it was marginally easier.

"Now, relax, and see the shot in your mind—release!"

The arrow sang as it flew through the air and hit the very edge of the target.

"Legolas, look, I hit it. Are you proud of me?"

The master archer eyed her. "Extremely. With a few thousand years, we'll have you hitting the inner circle in no time."

She swatted him.

* * *

_Aragorn_

After speaking to Eowyn, Aragorn was even less excited about travelling into the Paths of the Dead. But, after all, that wasn't saying much.

He led Brego away, determined to go on alone. No sooner had he had this thought than he heard Gimli.

"Just where do you think you're sneaking off to?" Gimli raised his bushy eyebrows.

Aragorn sighed. "Not this time, Gimli. This time you must stay."

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" And there was Legolas, leading his horse Asfaloth towards them.

"You may as well accept it. We're coming with you, laddie." Gimli grunted as he leaned on his axe. "Though I'll have to ride a horse with the cursed elf. I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make for you, Ranger."

Aragorn didn't even have it in himself to argue. What had he done, he wondered, to deserve friends such as these? "Well, then—"

He started, but he heard someone else approaching. He turned, and there was Arawin, her own horse fresh and ready.

"Thought you could slip away?"

He groaned. "Absolutely _not_—"

"Aragorn," Though she had a slight smile, her eyes were steel. "I've come this far."

He looked her over. "You seem… happier." He noticed. He didn't know what Elrond had told her, and she hadn't confided in him, but she was... different.

Her grin faded. "Maybe I've decided that I've wasted enough time crying." She said softly. "And you'll need me, wherever we're going. Elrond said we should stay together."

He considered it, but not for very long. "Very well then," He spread his arms and blew out through his nose, but he wasn't angry. "Who am I to disagree?"

"Not anyone important, that is certain." She remarked.

"And you would probably come either way."

"You're catching on." Her eyes sparkled. "Shall we go?"

"I suppose so." And maybe he wasn't excited about this, maybe the western worlds were ending and there was no hope, but right then the sun was shining and the sky was blue and he was riding with the only real friends he had in the world.

A few meters away, a lone pale figure melted back into the trees. Drops fell on to the grass near her feet, but the sky was cloudless.

* * *

_A/N I learned a new word today, maybe you caught it: Baldric, the belt that holds your sword. (Hopefully the ending wasn't cheesy)_

_Hope everyone had a good couple of weeks! Shout out to reviewers: _

_ro78172 (Thanks! Honestly, I don't really look up these things, because most readers aren't as thorough as you :). Her brother is still alive, did I phrase a sentence wrong? Thanks for reviewing!)_  
_RangeroftheSouth (Yes, I love their dynamic too! Aragorn and Legolas's friendship is one of my favorites, and it's really easy and fun for me to write their dialogue. Thanks so much for your commenting about my writing style, it means a lot. I agonized over every sentence, so I'm glad it paid off! Thanks for reviewing.)_  
_PrettyRecklessLaura (Thanks for reviewing!)_  
_EflingoftheShire (Awww, thanks! Can I just say that I love your hobbit in the red dress story? It's amazing. Please keep reviewing!)_


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